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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24259354">All Souls Who Take Up The Sword</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow'>anotetofollow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mien'Harel [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU: Mien'Harel, Alienages (Dragon Age), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle Couple, City Elf!Lavellan, Darkspawn, Deep Roads (Dragon Age), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Grey Wardens, Legion of the Dead, Legit Warden!Blackwall, Orlais (Dragon Age), Orzammar (Dragon Age), Right Of Conscription, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:29:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>75,631</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24259354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tanith Lavellan has been sentenced to death for killing a chevalier during the purging of her alienage. A last-minute intervention by a Grey Warden recruiter saves her life.</p><p>[Dragon Age AU where Lavellan is a City Elf and Blackwall is an actual, legit Grey Warden. Very slow burn enemies-to-friends-to-lovers romance with eventual Hero of Ferelden plot involvement.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blackwall/Female Lavellan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mien'Harel [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Hand It Has Bitten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>see end notes for points of canon divergence</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a good crowd for the hanging that day. The square was heaving with people, all slacking off work for the afternoon to come and bay for blood. Men and women, young and old, every one of them human. They cheered as the executioner led Tanith up the steps of the gallows by the scruff of her neck and pushed her down onto the platform. Her knees cracked painfully against the boards as she landed, hard enough to bruise. She didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.</p><p>The magistrate stood at the front of the scaffold, the worked silver of his mask catching the sunlight. He held out a hand, bidding the crowd to silence, and then spoke. “For your crimes against the Empire of Orlais.”</p><p>Tanith looked around the square. The platform stood four feet off the ground, with a set of steps off to the left, and the swarm of onlookers were spitting distance away. A good setup, she thought. Luckily they had tied her hands in front of her. When the executioner dragged her to her feet she would send something out into the crowd, fire if she could manage it, then make a break for the stairs in the chaos that followed. If she was lucky she could be lost in Montfort’s warren of side streets within minutes.</p><p>The magistrate continued. “For the murder of Ser Henri de Chambrun, Chevalier to the Empire, you are sentenced to be hanged from the neck until dead.”</p><p>So that had been his name.</p><p>After the rebellion at Halamshiral had been crushed, purging the alienages had become something of a fashion across Orlais. As in all things, the nobles liked to follow the lead of their Empress. The atmosphere had been tense in the Montfort alienage for months, a simmering fear that lingered in the air like smoke. It seemed only a matter of time before the local lord sent his soldiers marching down to teach them a lesson. Some of the elves had prepared for this eventuality, stockpiling kitchen knives, making crude daggers from bottle glass, keeping a watch on the walls at night. They were determined that they would not be caught unarmed and unawares.</p><p>Tanith had not bothered to join them. Even the most organised of alienage militias would never be enough to defeat a fully-armoured unit of soldiers. There was a certain pride, she supposed, in defending your home and people from attack, but ultimately the ones preparing to fight were setting themselves up for martyrdom. If she was going to have her revenge on her enemies, she would do so by surviving. What difference would one more dead elf make?</p><p>She had been asleep the night the fighting started. The sound of breaking glass woke her sharply, and she was on her feet within seconds. The garret room she rented didn’t have a view of the street outside, but she could hear the cacophony of shouts coming from below. It wasn’t difficult to work out what was happening. The room was above a butcher’s shop, and when she heard a door being kicked in and heavy boots on the floor below she decided it was safer to flee. She filled her pockets with what few items she possessed — a handful of coins, her mother’s ring, the key to her room — and went to the window. For one terrible moment it stuck fast in the casement, and she had to batter it with her shoulder before it would give. Once it had swung open she climbed out onto the sill and shimmied down the drainpipe.</p><p>The alley below was narrow, dead-ended, nearly pitch black at this time of night. Tanith found an alcove at the back of a building and tucked herself up inside it, keeping as small and still as possible. It was better to hide than to run. If she could stay here unseen until morning then she’d likely escape with her life. It stank in the alley, damp and piss and rancid fat from the butcher’s, but that was a small enough price to pay for survival. She hugged her knees to her chest and listened to the sounds of fighting from the street beyond, clenching her jaw every time she heard a scream cut short.</p><p>It wasn’t that she blithely accepted the soldiers’ right to come down into the alienage and butcher them. She hated them for it, hated them with every muscle and fibre of her being, hated them enough to hurt, to maim, to kill. Tanith would have happily slaughtered every shem who set foot inside their walls if she thought it would make a blind bit of difference. But she knew it wouldn’t. The lords would just send more soldiers, more armed men on horseback with armour that gleamed like jewels, and her people would pay for it ten times over. So she hid, and she waited, and she hoped that it would all be over by sunrise.</p><p>She was beginning to drift off to sleep again when she heard footsteps in the mouth of the alley. One set, heavy, metallic. Soldier. Tanith pressed herself almost flat against the back of the alcove, willing her breath to silence. Her heart was thundering in her chest, so loud to her ears that she thought that alone might give her away. The footsteps came closer, moving slowly, then paused. Tanith glanced across the alley to the drainpipe. If she was quick enough she could run to it before the soldier grabbed her, but there was no way she could climb to the top without being caught. Flight was out. That left fight. If she was seen.</p><p>For the longest moment there was nothing but silence. Tanith sat still as the dead, waiting. Perhaps the soldier hadn’t spotted her. Perhaps she would be left alone. But no, there were those footsteps again, coming ever-closer. Then a voice, deep and masculine, the rounded vowels of a noble.</p><p>“What’s this? A frightened rabbit?”</p><p>Clenching her fists to keep from shaking, Tanith got up from her hiding place and stood to face the soldier. No, not a soldier, a <em> chevalier</em>. In what little light there was Tanith could make out the lion engraving on his breastplate, the half-helmet with its plume of yellow feathers. He was over a foot taller than she was, and he laughed as he took another step closer.</p><p>“What are you doing back here, eh?”</p><p>Tanith didn’t reply. She was trying to work out her chances if she made a run for it, but the alley was so narrow and the man so broad that she would have to push past him to escape. The terror had given her senses a certain clarity, a sharpness. Even in the dark she could make out the layer of stubble on the man’s chin, the pearls inset in the clasp that held his cloak together. She could hear the low bellow of a hunting horn and the crackle of something burning.</p><p>“Nowhere to go, little rabbit.”</p><p>He was close enough for Tanith to smell the brandy on his breath. There was a greatsword strapped to his back, but instead of reaching for it he drew the dagger sheathed at his hip. A sliver of moonlight caught the wicked edge of the blade. This was not a weapon. This was a tool. For cutting, for carving, for butchering. For gutting an animal.</p><p>Tanith wasn’t entirely sure what happened next. The spells she cast might have had names, but if they did she had never learned them. He took another step forward and she drew that nameless power inwards, expelling it with a cry of pure fury. Something sliced out of the palm of her hand and a moment later the chevalier was stumbling backwards, clutching his throat as blood fountained from between his fingers. Tanith felt it spray across her face, wet and impossibly warm. The man fell hard onto his back, twitching, damp rattling sounds escaping from his mouth. And then he was still.</p><p>She felt dizzy. Whatever magic she had used had sucked the energy from her, leaving her weak and shaking. Carefully she stepped towards the chevalier’s body, nudged his arm with the toe of her boot. Dead. Blood pooled on the filthy floor of the alley, mixing with the puddles of brackish rainwater. Tanith licked her dry lips, tasted the copper-tang of blood. She crouched down and picked up the dagger the man had dropped, feeling the cold weight of it in her hand.</p><p>That was how the guards had found her a few seconds later. Kneeling over the corpse of one of the Empire’s finest, drenched in blood, clutching a dagger. They had dragged her straight to the cells. It was something of a mercy, really, when they could just as easily have killed her where she stood.</p><p>Instead they had locked her up for the night, and in the morning thrown her in front of the magistrate. She was tight-lipped when he asked her a few perfunctory questions, knowing that he wouldn’t listen to a word she said anyway. Better to be taken to the open space of the gallows and try for an escape than have the Templars drag her to the Circle. Better a slim chance than none.</p><p>As she knelt at the front of the platform she felt something sharp dig into the meat of her thigh and smiled. Three yellow feathers, torn from the chevalier’s helmet and pocketed a moment before the guards had arrived. Victor’s spoils. They had taken the dagger from her but they hadn’t thought to search her pockets. Her mother’s ring was safe, as well as the few scant coins she had saved. If she managed to escape she could eat tonight, at least.</p><p>The magistrate turned to her. His mask was unnerving, a cold approximation of a human face. “Do you have anything to say in your defence?”</p><p>Tanith spat at him. Her saliva hit the chin of his mask, dripping down onto the quilted silk of his doublet. The crowd exploded into angry cries and Tanith felt the rough hands of the executioner at her shoulders, pulling her upright as she had known he would. This was her chance. Closing her eyes, she breathed in slowly as she felt for the cracks in the world, drawing power into herself, letting it pool in her chest, sending it down into her hands…</p><p>“Stop!”</p><p>The sudden shout broke Tanith’s concentration and she lost her grip on the magic, felt the power slip away from her like sand through her fingers. She swore under her breath and tried to refocus herself, but she was too distracted by the commotion in the square below. Someone was pushing through the crowd towards the gallows, sending a murmur rippling through the crowd. Tanith craned her neck to see, and watched as a heavily-armoured man climbed the steps to the platform. He was broad and bearded, the insignia on his breastplate one Tanith didn’t recognise. A Templar?</p><p>“Grey Warden,” the magistrate said, his voice thick with displeasure. “Is there a reason you are interrupting our proceedings?”</p><p>Not a Templar, then. The Grey Warden began speaking to the magistrate in a voice too low for her to hear, earning further mutters from the crowd. Well, this was as good a distraction as any. Tanith couldn’t seem to get a grasp on her magic any more, so she kicked back hard against the executioner’s shins. He swore, loosening his grip on her for a moment, but caught hold of her again before she could get away. He pinned her arms tight to her sides, growling curses into her ear. Tanith threw her head back, trying to smash it into the bridge of his nose, but he was too tall and the blow glanced off his shoulder. Instead she lashed out wildly with her elbows and feet, leaning down to sink her teeth into the man’s forearm.</p><p>She had almost broken the skin when the crowd exploded in indignant cries, responding to something on the other side of the platform. Tanith let go of the executioner’s arm and turned to see what they were so upset about. The magistrate and the Grey Warden were shaking hands, the posture of both stiff and unhappy. Whatever they had been talking about, it seemed that the discussion had not been a friendly one.</p><p>The magistrate turned to the executioner and made a dismissive gesture. “Let her go,” he said. “It seems there will be no justice done today.”</p><p>The executioner threw Tanith roughly to the floor, kicking her hard in the ribs for good measure. “Little bitch,” he spat. “Take her, Ser Warden, and good luck to you.”</p><p>Tanith rolled onto her knees, gasping for breath, and pushed herself up to a standing position with her bound hands. The din from the crowd was deafening, a hundred angry voices calling for her head. But, for some reason, the magistrate was letting her go. The development was so bizarre that Tanith could not begin to process it. She had murdered a chevalier, a noble, an elite soldier of the Empire. Alienage elves did not get pardons for crimes such as this.</p><p>So thrown off was she by this development that she didn’t notice the Grey Warden approaching her until his hand was on her shoulder.</p><p>“Hey,” she frowned, shrugging him off.</p><p>“Come on,” he said. “If you’re not out of here in the next minute they’ll drag you down and kill you themselves.”</p><p>One look down at the screaming crowd told Tanith that he was right. So she allowed herself to be led off the platform, let the Grey Warden steer her out of the square and shield her from the worst of the missiles thrown in her direction, let him march her down several of Montfort’s twisting side streets until the cries had faded. He stopped suddenly when they reached a deserted passageway between two tenement blocks. Lines of laundry hung drying between the apartments above, filling the air with the tang of starch and ammonia.</p><p>The Warden turned to face her, lifting her bound hands. He pulled a knife from his belt and gestured to the ropes. “If I let you loose, will you promise not to run?”</p><p>“Of course.” Tanith made her eyes wide. “You saved my life.”</p><p>He nodded, then cut through the ties. When the rope fell away Tanith stretched out her wrists, blinked once, then turned on her heel and bolted.</p><p>She made it three steps before he caught her arm and yanked her backwards, the force almost knocking her off her feet. Tanith tried to pull free but his grip was firm.</p><p>“I see you’re not going to make this easy,” he said.</p><p>Tanith scowled at him. “Are you army?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Are you guard?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then I don’t have to go anywhere with you.” She wrenched her arm free.</p><p>“I don’t think you understand what happened back there,” he said. The Warden’s expression was grim, but not angry. “Do you know who the Grey Wardens are?”</p><p>“Of course I fucking do,” she said. “I’m not five years old. You fight darkspawn.”</p><p>“That’s part of it,” he said. “Do you know what the Right of Conscription is?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“It means I have the right to conscript you.”</p><p>“Oh, so it’s quite a literal name then?”</p><p>He gave her a flat look. “It’s also the only reason you’re not swinging from a rope right now. I’ve likely just pissed off the entire Orlesian army for the sake of getting you out.”</p><p>“Yes, well, I didn’t ask you to.” Tanith rubbed at the rope burns on her wrists. “I had it in hand.”</p><p>“Yes, it looked like it. Were you planning to escape before they put the noose around your neck or after?”</p><p>“You’re funny. I’m going now.”</p><p>“No, you’re not.” There was a hard edge to his voice that gave Tanith pause. “Conscription doesn’t mean you’re free. It means you’re joining the Wardens. It’s not optional.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, but unless you’re planning on throwing me over your shoulder and carrying me out of Montfort like a sack of potatoes then I’m afraid it is.”</p><p>“I’m not ruling it out,” he said. “But you need to understand something. As long as you’re a conscript, you’re protected. If you go back out there you’re a fugitive.” The Warden pointed to the street. “If the guards catch you, or the Templars—”</p><p>Tanith frowned. “What would the Templars want with me?”</p><p>“Please,” he scoffed. “You expect me to believe that all five-foot-nothing of you took down an armoured chevalier without magic? Your magistrate might be thick as pig shit, but I’m not.”</p><p>“Well, maybe you are,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Because I’m no mage. Can’t use a sword. Can’t fire a bow. You don’t want me for the Wardens.”</p><p>“It’s too late for that,” he said. “If you walk away now it’ll be the Circle or the cells or worse. This is your best chance at staying alive. I promise you.”</p><p>Tanith looked at him. His eyes were pale grey, surprisingly sincere, enough to make her consider his words for a moment. Where <em> would </em> she go, if she left now? She couldn’t go back to her garret room in the alienage, not if she didn’t want to be dragged up to the gallows again. The coins in her pocket might stretch to a bumpy cart ride to the next town over but she’d be penniless once she arrived. She had no family left living, few friends to speak of. Sourly she realised that perhaps she didn’t have many options after all.</p><p>She leaned against the wall of the passageway, wincing at the pain in her ribs. “What would I have to do?” she said. “If I was a Grey Warden.”</p><p>“Go where you’re told,” he said. “Fight when you’re asked to. There’s a bit more to it than that, but that’s more or less what it boils down to.”</p><p>“And what do I get out of it?”</p><p>The Warden was quiet for a moment before speaking, as though selecting his words carefully. “You’d owe fealty to no countries, no kings. There’ll always be a roof over your head and food on the table. I won’t pretend it’s the easiest life in the world. But there’s pride in it, and you’ll never have to worry about some noble whoreson drawing his blade on you for sport.”</p><p>Tanith stared at him for a long time, looking for some indication that he was selling her a lie. He seemed earnest enough, not breaking her gaze when she looked at him, no shift in his expression. In the end it was her that gave first, dropping her eyes and sighing. She kicked a pebble across the street.</p><p>“Fine,” she said. “It’s not like I’m drowning in possibilities here, is it?”</p><p>The Warden smiled at her, seemingly satisfied. “Good,” he said. “Blackwall. Pleased to meet you.” He held his hand out for her to shake.</p><p>Tanith looked down at it distastefully. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m coming with you, but we’re not friends. You don’t have to know my name.”</p><p>“I have to call you something.”</p><p>“I’d rather you didn’t call me anything.”</p><p>“Alright then,” he said, gesturing to the mouth of the passageway. “After you, my lady.”</p><p>Tanith glared at him. “Don’t do that.”</p><p>“Then tell me your name.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then that’s what you’re getting.”</p><p>“Great,” Tanith said, pushing herself off the wall. “I’m regretting this already.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. For These Lesser Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blackwall had travelled the road between Montfort and Val Chevin a score of times in his years with the Wardens. His work took him across Orlais seeking those willing or desperate enough to join the order, and once every few months he would make the long journey along the Imperial Highway looking for recruits. A ship to Jader, on foot through Halamshiral and Lydes and Verichel, a stop at the Circle in Montsimmard on the way around Lake Celestine, Val Firmin, Val Foret, Val Royeaux, north through Montfort and Ghislain and Churneau, then finally doubling back to Val Chevin. Those who volunteered for the order were trusted to make their own way to the fortress. The recruits who came less willingly were taken to the next outpost, where another Warden would escort them the rest of the way while Blackwall continued on his travels.</p><p>So it was that he rarely accompanied conscripts himself, but Montfort was the last stop on his journey and so this time the responsibility fell to him. He had been away from the fortress for months, and the last leg of his journey home always felt the longest. His present company was making it feel even longer.</p><p>The elf had barely spoken a word to him since they left Montfort, and had made a point of dawdling a few paces behind him for the entire trek along the Imperial Highway. At first Blackwall had thought she might try to run again, but each morning he had woken to find her still in camp, as surly and reluctant as she had been the day he had saved her from the gallows. It was not that he resented her silence, exactly — he of all people understood that not all joined the order with enthusiasm — but having her constantly glaring at his back put him on edge. Occasionally he would attempt to strike up a conversation with her, only to be met with derision and one-word answers.</p><p>Blackwall supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, given where she came from. He had been making enquiries among the de Montfort family’s retainers when word had reached him of the purge of the alienage, the elf who had killed a chevalier. The city guards were unforthcoming when he tried to investigate further, making it abundantly clear that asking questions on the matter was ill-advised. Still, it didn’t take any great genius to piece together what had happened. Military raids upon the alienages had become all too common over the last year, the lords’ thinly-veiled disdain for their poorest subjects suddenly spilling over into violence. The few folk who were willing to speak on the matter — usually elves, always in hushed voices — told of soldiers butchering people in the streets, hunting them like game. Blackwall was certain that, if he were an elf, he would probably hate humans too.</p><p>His conscript did not know this, however, and Blackwall suspected that it would not endear her towards him even if she did. So he endured her withering glances, her silence, her refusal to tell him her name. In the evenings she never offered to help set up camp, simply ate whatever food was available and then wandered off to find a place to sleep. Blackwall counted off the days until they would reach Val Chevin, finding some comfort in the knowledge that soon she would no longer be his responsibility.</p><p>During their fourth evening of travel it began to rain, and they left the road to make camp under the shelter of the Imperial Highway. The stone arches that supported it were huge, their construction a wonder either of magic or engineering depending on who you asked. The scrubland between the supports was difficult to traverse but at least relatively dry, and a few minutes hacking away at the undergrowth with his sword left a respectably-sized area clear for camping.</p><p>“That should do,” he said, kicking aside some of the brush. “I’ve slept in worse.”</p><p>“Mmm.” The elf did not seem impressed. She walked over to the wall of the arch, sat leaning against the stone.</p><p>The spring rain made a gentle hum where it pattered against the stone and scrub, the night air refreshingly cool after several days of heat. Blackwall managed to find some dry wood in a copse of trees south of the road, startling a family of deer from their grazing as he went. That half hour in the woods was the most comfortable he had felt since leaving Montfort. He was accustomed to travelling alone. Having someone with him at all was an inconvenience, and knowing that this particular someone hated his guts did not make things any easier.</p><p>When he returned to the camp and built up the fire he discovered that the rain had soaked through his pack and into his tinderbox, rendering the charcloth mostly unusable. He doggedly attempted to light the fire without it, striking flint against steel over and over again, sending sparks flying into the kindling to wink out and die. The elf watched him all the while, her face impassive.</p><p>“Feel free to step in at any time,” he said.</p><p>She shifted where she sat. “What could I do?”</p><p>“You know what.”</p><p>“I keep telling you, I’m not a mage.”</p><p>“Yes, you are.”</p><p>“I’m not.”</p><p>“I believe you <em>are</em>, my lady.” The firewood chose that moment to catch in earnest, the first flames licking up the dry branches. Blackwall knelt forward to blow gently on the tinder, encouraging it to spread. Once it was crackling happily he got to his feet, brushing dirt off his trousers.</p><p>“See?” she said. “You managed it all by yourself.”</p><p>Ignoring her jibe, he dug around in his pack for what was left of the salt beef and hardtack and handed her a portion. She took it without thanks, tearing pieces off the dried meat with her incisors and chewing sullenly. Four days of road dust had left her curls a dull brown, the powdery layer on her skin obscuring most of the freckles across her cheeks. There were a number of moths flitting around the campsite, drawn by the light of the fire, and every time one flew close to the elf’s head one of her ears would flick irritably. Like a horse, Blackwall thought, though he was sure she wouldn’t thank him for the comparison.</p><p>They ate in silence for a while. When he passed her the waterskin she almost drained it, leaving a scant mouthful left in the bottom for him. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, closed it again.</p><p>After they had finished their meal the elf took something out of her pocket and began turning it over in her hands. Behind the heat-haze of the fire it was difficult to make out what it was she held, and Blackwall had to move a little closer to see. Feathers, he realised, a plume of yellow feathers. She ran the quills between her fingers slowly, almost reverently, smiling to herself all the while. Blackwall could guess where they had come from. Was this supposed to be a threat? A warning?</p><p>“Grim souvenir,” he said.</p><p>She looked up at him. Her eyes were so dark a green they were almost black, catching the firelight. “It was the least I deserved.”</p><p>“I’m sure,” he said. “I heard a little about what happened in the alienage. What they did.”</p><p>“And what did <em> you hear</em>?” The way she said the words implied that no information given to him could possibly be trusted.</p><p>“Same as I’ve heard in near every city I’ve been to these past few months. Some local lord marches his people into the alienage, they throw their weight around. Usually leave with their noses bloodied.”</p><p>She nodded. “Mien’harel.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“<em>Mien’harel</em>.” She repeated the unfamiliar word, rolling out the <em> r </em>.</p><p>“Which means?”</p><p>“I don’t know the translation,” she shrugged. “But it’s something like… when the shems push us too far, we remind them not to. You kick a dog enough times and it’ll start biting back.”</p><p>“Is that what you were doing?” he asked. “Biting back?”</p><p>She gave him a level stare. “No. I was hiding.”</p><p>Blackwall thought hard before speaking. This was the most words she had spoken to him since they had left Montfort, and he didn’t want to offend her back into silence now. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who hides.”</p><p>“I’m the kind of woman who likes her throat uncut,” she said, her voice brittle. “If that means fighting, I fight. If it means running, I run. And yes, if it means hiding, I hide. There are no glorious deaths in the alienage. Falling on some chevalier’s sword isn’t heroism. It’s stupidity.”</p><p>Her words made Blackwall uncomfortable. He supposed that he had been thinking of it in those terms, of war and combat and sacrifice. Before he was a Warden he had been a soldier. They were trained to consider the world in these ways. But an alienage was not a battlefield, and elven civilians were not an army. Why wouldn’t she decide that survival was the better option?</p><p>Before he could say anything to this effect she had stood up, stretched, and padded off to a spot outside the circle of firelight. She curled up on the ground, seemingly unbothered by the rocky surface, using her arm as a pillow as she settled down to sleep.</p><p>“Tell me your name,” he called to her.</p><p>“No,” she replied, as she did every night.</p><p>The following day the rain had passed, and they climbed back up the hillside to rejoin the Imperial Highway. After several hours of walking Blackwall spotted a familiar rock formation in the middle distance, a jutting ridge of black stone that, in the right light, looked almost like the head of a wyvern.</p><p>“We need to take a detour,” he said, looking over his shoulder to where the elf strolled a few feet behind him.</p><p>She frowned at him. “Why?”</p><p>“It’s a surprise,” he said flatly.</p><p>“Oh good. Very encouraging.”</p><p>Blackwall turned back to the road, deciding not to take the bait. She’d find out soon enough.</p><p>There was a set of steps leading down from the road about a half mile out from the wyvern rock, terminating in a swathe of the same dense scrubland they had camped in the night before. From there it was a short hike up to the bluffs. The exposed stone of the hillside was dark, the regular patterns of the rock formations and the piles of rubble telling of a disused quarry. When they were almost there Blackwall pulled up short.</p><p>“Ever seen a darkspawn before?” he asked, conversationally.</p><p>The elf gaped at him. “What?”</p><p>“You’re joining the Wardens now,” he said. “Need to get used to fighting them. The quarriers dug too deep a few years back, opened a fissure to the Deep Roads. There’s always a few hanging about here.”</p><p>She said nothing, just stood with her mouth hanging slightly open. Blackwall had to fight down a laugh.</p><p>“Come on,” he said. “It’s just a bit further up.”</p><p>“I’m unarmed!”</p><p>“Are you sure about that?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>.”</p><p>“Alright then.” Blackwall unsheathed his belt knife and handed it to her, handle-first. “Now you’re armed.”</p><p>She took it from him, her mouth a thin line. The blade was barely an inch long, meant for trimming sticks and chopping carrots. “Thank you,” she said. “This is very helpful.”</p><p>Blackwall grunted and turned back towards the quarry, only half-trusting that she would follow.</p><p>The familiar sensation came upon him almost the moment he stepped onto the black stone. A buzzing in his temples, behind his eyes, a prickling at the nape of his neck. No matter how many times Blackwall sensed the presence of darkspawn, he could never get used to the feeling of it. It was like having insects crawling under your skin.</p><p>“They’re close,” he said, looking back to the elf. “Get ready.”</p><p>She gave a short, stiff nod, her dark eyes very wide. Blackwall felt almost sorry for her. But this was the work, and the sooner she learned what it meant the better. Drawing his sword, he took a few careful steps into the quarry.</p><p>He spotted the first one almost immediately. A hurlock, tall and shambling, its armour a patchwork of rusted metal and perished leather. Rows of pointed teeth behind curled-back lips, eye sockets almost hollow. It spotted Blackwall at the same time he caught sight of it, letting out a blood-curdling scream as it hurtled towards him.</p><p>Blackwall ran to meet it, holding his shield up to turn the first blow. The hurlock’s curved blade glanced off it, giving him enough time to thrust his sword between the thing’s ribs. It shrieked as it twisted backwards to free itself, the wound spouting black ichor. Unfortunately, darkspawn did not die so easily. The hurlock rushed him again, taloned hands holding its weapon high, and Blackwall only just managed to roll out of the way in time. Missing its target threw the hurlock off-balance, and while it was staggering to its feet Blackwall swung his blade in a wide arc, shearing its neck from its shoulders. The thing crumpled to the ground, its withered body looking like a corpse long-dead already.</p><p>Blackwall had hardly caught his breath when he felt an arrow whistle past his ear. When he looked up he saw a genlock crouching on a shelf of rock halfway up the quarry wall, a bow grasped in its claws. He looked around for cover as the darkspawn drew another arrow, but it never had a chance to loose it. A ball of flame smashed into the perch where the genlock sat, throwing it off the cliff face to land with a dull <em> crack </em> on the rocks below. Blackwall saw the elf standing some fifty feet away from him, her hands wreathed in flame. When their eyes met she gave an exaggerated shrug, and he turned back to the quarry laughing.</p><p>There were only a handful of the creatures shuffling mindlessly between the rocks that day, their rusted weapons dragging on the ground behind them. Ordinarily the Wardens would block off such an entrance to the Deep Roads if they knew about it, but the Warden-Constable had elected to keep this one open. It was small enough and remote enough that it posed very little threat, and it provided a reliable source of darkspawn against which new recruits could test their mettle.</p><p>Between them they dispatched the few remaining darkspawn fairly quickly. Blackwall took down a couple more genlocks that were lingering near the quarry’s back wall, and the elf managed to burn another archer to ashes. Once the buzzing in his head had faded to almost nothing Blackwall sheathed his sword and turned towards her.</p><p>“It’s safe now,” he called. “Come here.”</p><p>The elf had been standing near the edge of the quarry throughout the battle and appeared less than convinced, but she walked over anyway. When she drew closer to the genlock corpses she grimaced, her tawny skin growing noticeably pale.</p><p>“Maker’s blood,” she said. “That’s a darkspawn?”</p><p>“That’s a darkspawn.”</p><p>She gave one an exploratory poke with her boot and then scuttled a few steps backwards. When it didn’t move she approached again, leaning down to better look at its twisted face. “That is disgusting.”</p><p>“They certainly are. Here, give me that knife back.” He raised an eyebrow at her as she handed it over. “Not a mage, eh?”</p><p>The elf put on an expression of mock-innocence. “I’m as shocked as you are! Honestly.”</p><p>Blackwall chuckled as he crouched on the floor beside the genlock’s body, unshouldering his pack. He dug around inside it for the small wooden box he carried, setting it carefully on the ground and undoing the catch. Inside, set in thick padding, were three empty vials.</p><p>“What’s that for?” the elf asked.</p><p>“This.” Blackwall stuck the knife into the dead genlock’s throat, sending a slow stream of ichor dripping out. He took one of the vials from the box and unstoppered it, positioning the vessel where it could catch the blood.</p><p>“Fuck off,” she said, her voice horrified. “No, fuck off. What are you doing?”</p><p>“What does it look like I’m doing?”</p><p>“Forget the darkspawn. <em> That’s </em> disgusting. <em> You’re </em>disgusting.”</p><p>He smirked as he stoppered the first vial. “Oh, you just wait. You’ve not seen the half of it yet.”</p><p>She looked as though she might throw up but, to her credit, she didn’t. That was more than he could say for many of the recruits he’d brought up here before. Most of them took one look at their first darkspawn and lost their breakfast, if they didn’t piss themselves first. Maker, he’d barely held it together himself the first time he’d seen one. Bared fangs and black eyes and skin like leather, the ear-splitting howls they made as they attacked. There wasn’t any shame in being afraid of them. Blackwall could hardly imagine what it would be like during a Blight, facing down an army of the bastards. And, given that the last Blight was only a decade past, hopefully he’d never have to.</p><p>Once he had finished filling the vials Blackwall returned them to their hollows in the box and latched it securely. The elf had watched him complete this particular task with a look of complete revulsion on her face, though he noted that she didn’t once turn away. A morbid fascination that probably boded well.</p><p>“You should be proud of yourself,” he said, getting to his feet. “There’s not many people in the world who can say they’ve killed darkspawn <em> and </em>a chevalier.”</p><p>“True,” she said. “What shall I add to my list next, do you think? Grey Warden, perhaps?” The elf gave a smile that flashed her teeth.</p><p>“I’d rather you didn’t, my lady.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes at him. “Tanith.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“<em>Tanith</em>,” she repeated. “My name. It’s Tanith.”</p><p>“Tanith.” It suited her, he thought. Short and sharp. “Glad to finally make your acquaintance.” He held his hand out again, hoping they could finish their introductions this time.</p><p>She looked at his outstretched hand then up at his face, her expression incredulous. “When I’ve just watched you digging around in darkspawn guts? Go fuck yourself.” Tanith turned around and walked back towards the entrance of the quarry.</p><p>Three days till Val Chevin, he thought. Just three more days.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Like Cattle For Slaughter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith smelled it before she saw it. The scent reminded her of the fish market in Montfort’s northern quarter, but lighter somehow, cleaner, with a saline bite to the air that left her feeling more awake. After a week on the road she was footsore and crotchety, wanting nothing more than to lay down somewhere dark and sleep for a full week. The moment they crested the hill outside Val Chevin, however, all of this was forgotten.</p><p>The land simply sheared away, the plateau with its sand-coloured stone and carpet of heather ending abruptly some half a mile away from where they stood. Below and beyond it, as far as the horizon, was the water. Tanith had always thought the ocean would be as still and silent as a pond, but nothing could have been further from the truth. It was alive, ever-moving, the sound of the waves a constant, gentle rumbling, like the contented purr of some great creature. For several long minutes all she could do was stare at it. Hers had been a world of walls for as long as she could remember. She had never known the sky could look so big.</p><p>“Never been to the coast before?” Blackwall asked.</p><p>Tanith shook her head. “Never been outside of Montfort before.”</p><p>“That’s Val Chevin.” He nodded towards a distant piece of coastline where a broad river met the sea. A city sprawled around a harbour crowded with fishing boats, the sky above it hazy with smoke. Then he turned, pointing in the opposite direction. “Fort Astor is on the peninsula to the west. We’re almost there now.”</p><p>“Mhmm.”</p><p>Tanith wasn’t really listening. She followed silently as Blackwall led the way down the narrow coastal path, her eyes always trained on the sea. As they moved closer to the cliffs she saw how the waves broke in plumes of spray against the rocks, watched gulls wheel overhead and then drop like stones to snatch fish from the water. The ground crunched underfoot, a thin layer of sand nestling among the grass. It was a clear day, and the landscape was awash with colour; the deep blue of the sea mirroring the sky above, stone outcroppings almost golden in the sunlight, the heather painting purple swathes over the clifftop.</p><p>It wasn’t long before Tanith caught sight of Fort Astor. The keep sat on a small island that almost touched the cliffs, connected by a bridge of rough grey stone. A wall of the same material obscured most of the structures within from view, though a central stout tower rose proudly above it. The fort lacked anything approaching decoration, and save for the occasional smear of bird-shit was not especially interesting to look at.</p><p>“Oh,” Tanith said, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “Is that it?”</p><p>“Yes,” Blackwall said. “It is.”</p><p>“I thought it’d be bigger.”</p><p>“Doesn’t need to be. Fortifications like that, two dozen men could hold it against invaders.”</p><p>“Who’d want it?”</p><p>“Things don’t have to be pretty to be effective.”</p><p>Tanith shrugged. “I prefer to be both.”</p><p>They crossed the bridge, which was about wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast. Tanith walked close to the waist-high wall, leaning over to better see the waves crashing against the rocks below. The clean-salt smell of the sea was strong here, mixed with the dim aroma of woodsmoke drifting from the keep.</p><p>Blackwall remained in the middle of the walkway, looking at her warily. “Will you get back from there?”</p><p>“Why?” she asked, then grinned at him. “You’re afraid of heights.”</p><p>“I am not.”</p><p>“Oh, you <em> definitely </em>are.” Tanith leaned a little further over the edge, cackling when she saw him twitch, then strolled back towards the centre of the path. “Lead the way, o fearless Grey Warden.”</p><p>The bridge ended in a tall gatehouse, where a portcullis was raised to allow them entry. Tanith followed Blackwall into an open courtyard, which to her eyes looked very much like any square in one of Montfort’s poorer districts. There were men unloading sacks of vegetables from the back of a cart, a few horses in a shabby-looking stable block, small groups of people standing around talking. The only difference were the banners hanging from the wall of the keep, emblazoned with a rearing griffon, and the fact that every person was dressed in some variation of the same blue-and-grey armour that Blackwall wore. </p><p>Several of the Wardens waved a greeting as they passed, welcoming Blackwall back from his travels. Mostly human, Tanith observed, though there were one or two elves among them. As small as the keep might be, there didn’t seem to be quite enough people to fill it. Tanith had expected an army, grim-faced soldiers marching rank and file through some grand castle. The Warden outpost was more like a small town, nondescript but for the omnipresent griffon sigil.</p><p>There was a tall, red-haired human standing over near the stables, and when he saw Blackwall and Tanith approach he jogged over to greet them.</p><p>“Maker, you’ve been gone a while,” he said, clapping Blackwall on the shoulder. His voice was accented, a little clipped. “Was starting to think you’d defected.”</p><p>“Not yet,” Blackwall said. “Where’s Margot? Need to get this one ready for her Joining.” </p><p>“Oh, hello.” The red-haired man nodded politely at Tanith. “Pleasure to meet you.”</p><p>She eyed him suspiciously, unused to friendly words from noble shems. Seeing that Tanith was not going to respond to his greeting, the man turned back to Blackwall.</p><p>“Warden-Constable’s in the hall,” he said. “You’ve timed it well, actually. Nataly came back with two of her own this morning. You can get them all done at once. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to dash. We’ll catch up tomorrow.” The man left with a cheery wave, his pale cheeks flushing pink in the sun.</p><p>Tanith turned to Blackwall. “‘Get them all done at once’? What’s getting done to me, exactly?”</p><p>“There’s a ritual we have to carry out before you can join the Wardens,” he said, beginning to climb the steps to the keep. “Sounds like there’s other conscripts waiting, at least. Be glad you won’t have to do it alone.”</p><p>“Yes, but what <em> is it</em>?” Tanith said, following him up the stairs.</p><p>“We’re not allowed to tell you about it beforehand,” Blackwall said. “It’s simple, but it’s dangerous. Some recruits don’t survive it.”</p><p>“And you didn’t think to mention this to me before?”</p><p>“You were about to be executed when we met, if you remember. Maybe dead is better than definitely dead.”</p><p>“That’s very reassuring,” Tanith said. “Have you considered joining the Chantry once you’re bored of the Wardens? I’m sure you’d be a great comfort to the masses.”</p><p>“I’ll take it under consideration.” Blackwall said.</p><p>They were in a corridor now, draughty and austere, the footsteps of the few Wardens passing through it echoing off the high ceilings. The floor was rough stone, the walls bare save for a few moth-eaten tapestries. They turned a corner and passed through a set of iron-banded doors, walking into what Tanith assumed must be the keep’s main hall. It was a large room with a hearth blazing at one end, made a little merrier than the rest of the keep by woven rugs and a number of well-stocked bookshelves. There were several Wardens lounging around at the long tables or talking in pairs, a couple of them looking up and waving when Blackwall entered. There was a group standing over by the fire, two women in Warden armour and two men in plain homespun. One of the women was a dwarf, Tanith noted. Not a common sight in Orlais.</p><p>When Blackwall caught sight of them he stopped short and turned to Tanith. “See that woman there, the human?”</p><p>“I have eyes.”</p><p>He closed his own for a long moment, then opened them again and continued speaking. “That’s Margot Perchet, the Warden-Constable. She’s in charge here. Now, she’s a fair commander, but if she takes a disliking to you she can make your life very difficult. I recommend making a good impression on her.”</p><p>“So I shouldn’t set her on fire, spit in her face, call her a filthy shem, that kind of thing?”</p><p>“If you could refrain from that I’d appreciate it.”</p><p>“I’ll do my best. But no promises.”</p><p>“Maker,” he sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”</p><p>The Warden-Constable and the dwarf woman both looked up as they approached, smiling a greeting. Perchet was tall and slender, her slate-grey hair scraped into a severe bun at the back of her head. Tanith noted the daggers strapped to her hips, each with a handle worked in silver filigree. Idly she wondered how much they had cost.</p><p>The dwarf, in contrast, carried the largest axe Tanith had ever seen. Her head was shorn and scarred, but despite her battle-worn appearance her smile was warm and genuine. “You brought one too,” she said to Blackwall. “We haven’t had this many for a Joining in a while.”</p><p>“Welcome back,” the Warden-Constable said. “And welcome to you, recruit.”</p><p>Tanith forced a smile, deciding that it was better not to open her mouth. This woman was tough as boot leather, she could tell just by looking. Quickly Tanith decided that it would be best not to get on her bad side after all.</p><p>“A word with you both,” Perchet said, gesturing to Blackwall and the dwarf. “Let’s leave our new recruits to get acquainted.”</p><p>She walked over to a quiet corner of the hall, not waiting for a response. Blackwall gave Tanith an apologetic look before following the Warden-Constable.</p><p>That left Tanith alone with the two other conscripts. She glanced at them from the corner of her eye and found them watching her closely, their eyes hard. One was dark-haired, heavily muscled, a bruise purpling across one temple. The other was smaller, with a sharp, rat-like face and blonde hair falling to his shoulders. He frowned at her, his sallow face creasing.</p><p>“Where’d they pick you up, then?”</p><p>“Montfort,” Tanith said, not meeting his eye.</p><p>“They got us in Lydes,” he said.</p><p>“Mmm.” She glanced around the room, hoping that if she showed enough disinterest he would leave her alone. The last thing she wanted to do was make small talk with a couple of shems she’d never met before.</p><p>“Oi,” the blonde man said, lifting a dirty hand in front of her face and snapping his fingers. “Did you hear me?”</p><p>Tanith turned to face him. “I heard you fine,” she said. “I just don’t want to talk to you.”</p><p>“Suit yourself,” he said, looking down his nose at her. “Knife-eared bitch.”</p><p>She was on him in a heartbeat. It wasn’t a thing she paused to think about, just an instinct as ingrained as breathing. Tanith clawed at him, ducking out of the way when he tried to hit back, aiming for his eyes and his gut and the soft flesh of his throat. Using magic in the alienage was a death sentence, and so she had learned to fight other ways.  The man cried out as she fell on him with her teeth and nails and fists, cursing her bloody, pushing hard at her neck to keep her away. She had just managed to get a grip on his wrist when she heard raised voices from behind her.</p><p>“Hey! Leave it!”</p><p>Tanith felt Blackwall grab her hard around the waist, tearing her off the other recruit. She struggled to free herself from his grip, clawing uselessly at his arms as he dragged her away from the scuffle. The moment he let her go she spun round instinctively and lashed out in his direction. Her fingernails caught his cheek and two bright lines of scarlet blossomed in their wake. Blackwall brought his hand to his face, frowning as his fingers came away wet with blood.</p><p>“Right,” he said. “With me.”</p><p>He took her shoulder and marched her away from the hearth, his expression grim. Tanith <em> seethed</em>. All his lofty talk, and the Wardens were the same as everyone else. Shems protecting shems protecting shems. The second he was done with her she’d leave, make her way to the next town, get back to the business of surviving.</p><p>Blackwall stopped at the edge of the hall, next to one of the tall bookshelves, then turned to face her. “What was that about?”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter.” Tanith couldn’t look at him. Her body was taut with fury.</p><p>“It does fucking matter,” he said. “I’m the one who brought you here. If you start attacking people—”</p><p>“As if you care—”</p><p>“That reflects on me—”</p><p>“Don’t know why I came—”</p><p>“You can’t just—”</p><p>“He called me knife-ear!” Tanith barked out the last, louder than she had intended to.</p><p>Blackwall fell silent for a moment. He looked at her, and this time she didn’t break his gaze. She breathed hard as she stared him down, willing him, <em> daring </em>him to speak.</p><p>“You made a mistake back there,” he said.</p><p>Tanith scowled. “It’s not—”</p><p>“You punch from the elbow,” he continued. “There’s no momentum behind it. Won’t do any damage. You need to start from the shoulder, get your full weight in the blow. Little pissant like that, you could have knocked him out with one solid hit.”</p><p>Tanith blinked at him, not entirely sure what she was hearing.</p><p>Blackwall gave her a significant look. “Next time, make sure the fight’s over before I can stop it.” Then he turned and walked out of the hall, leaving her standing alone by the bookshelves.</p><p>“Huh.” Tanith felt a little dazed. Whatever she had been expecting him to say to her, it wasn’t that. She made a few experimental jabs with her fist, trying to move from her shoulder.</p><p>A moment later the dwarf woman approached her, a sheepish look on her scarred face. “I feel like I should apologise for my conscripts,” she said. “The guard-captain in Lydes pretty much begged me to take them. I’m starting to see why.”</p><p>“Not your fault,” Tanith said.</p><p>“I know, but we all feel a little responsible for our recruits’ behaviour,” she said. “I’m Nataly, by the way.”</p><p>“Tanith.”</p><p>“You been on the road all day?”</p><p>“Pretty much.”</p><p>“You must be starving,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you fed. I don’t advise taking the Joining on an empty stomach.”</p><p>Nataly led her to the keep’s mess hall. It was a long room, the busiest one Tanith had seen since arriving, half-full of armoured Wardens. There was a long window along one wall that looked out across the ocean, the cool breeze pleasant where it blew through the open shutters.</p><p>They found a table and Nataly disappeared through a side door for a moment, returning with two plates piled high with food. There was brown bread, some kind of boiled grain, several thick slices of rare beef. The dwarf passed Tanith a plate and sat on the bench beside her.</p><p>“We don’t keep regular mealtimes here,” she said. “Kitchen’s always open. The food’s not fancy, but there’s always a lot of it.”</p><p>Tanith could barely remember the last time she had eaten a hot meal, but decided not to mention it. She cut off a piece of beef and chewed, her eyes closing with pleasure as it melted bloody against her tongue. “Good enough for me.”</p><p>They talked a little as they ate. Nataly was a recruiter, like Blackwall, one of the Wardens who travelled the country looking for conscripts. The dwarf put away enough food to feed a small army, going back to the kitchen for seconds and thirds, explaining that being a Grey Warden often came with a prodigious appetite. Tanith ate almost as much herself, enjoying the novelty of an endless meal that she didn’t have to pay for. What had Blackwall said back in Montfort? <em> A roof over your head and food on the table</em>. Well, that part was proving true at least.</p><p>“So what’s this Joining thing about?” Tanith asked, sucking fat from her fingers. “I know I might die, but that’s about all I know.”</p><p>Nataly pulled a face. “Unfortunately that’s about all I can tell you. The Wardens love a ritual, and they love their little secrets. Won’t have to wait long to find out, though. Margot’s keen to get it done tonight.”</p><p>The thought of undertaking a shadowy and potentially fatal ritual in a scant few hours made Tanith suddenly nauseous. Seeing the look on her face Nataly laughed, clapping a firm hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“You’ll be fine,” she said. “Blackwall’s got an eye for these things. His recruits almost never die.”</p><p>“Great.” Tanith wished she hadn’t eaten so much. It wasn’t sitting particularly well in her stomach now.</p><p>“Seriously, don’t panic,” Nataly said, her voice gentle. “Just close your eyes, hold your nose, and try not to think too hard about it.”</p><p>Strangely, her words didn’t make Tanith feel any better. Worse, if anything.</p><p>A couple of hours later another Warden came to find them, telling Nataly that the Joining would be commencing shortly and that Tanith was to be brought up to the hall.</p><p>“You ready?” the dwarf asked. “If you’re thinking about running, I don’t suggest jumping out of that window. It’s fifty feet down to the rocks. Not a pretty way to go.”</p><p>“I’ve come this far,” Tanith said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “Might as well see it through, right?”</p><p>“That’s right.” Nataly nodded approvingly. “Come on. Let’s get up there.”</p><p>The hall was full when they arrived. Tanith guessed that every Warden in Fort Astor must be in attendance. Their numbers were less than she had first expected, but they looked like a lot when they were all crammed in together and staring at her. The Warden-Constable was standing by the hearth with the two human conscripts, and Nataly gestured for Tanith to go and join them.</p><p>“Good luck,” she whispered.</p><p>Tanith smiled her thanks, certain that if she opened her mouth she would throw up. She tried to keep her feet steady as she walked over to where Perchet stood, determined that the other recruits wouldn’t see a shred of fear in her. The blonde one had a black eye and several nasty claw marks across his throat, and he stared daggers at Tanith when she came to stand beside him. This bolstered her spirits a little, and she winked slyly at him when Perchet wasn’t looking.</p><p>Blackwall was standing near the front of the crowd. He managed to catch Tanith’s eye, nodding at her in what she imagined was supposed to be an encouraging way. The scratches on his face were still obvious, though they had stopped bleeding now. Knowing that he was there was strangely reassuring. He was, after all, the closest thing Tanith had to a familiar face.</p><p>No one in the room had been speaking, but when Perchet held out her gloved hand a different kind of silence fell across the hall. A held-breath of a silence. She turned to the recruits, staring at each of them in turn. Tanith felt her stomach tighten when the Warden-Constable’s gaze landed on her. The woman’s eyes were pale blue, hawkish, and her lined face gave nothing away. Perhaps she was furious about the earlier altercation, or perhaps she didn’t care at all. It was impossible to tell.</p><p>“Conscripts,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Tonight you complete your Joining.”</p><p>It was unbearably hot this close to the fire, and Tanith could feel sweat pooling above her lip and in the small of her back. She let out a slow breath, attempted to centre herself.</p><p>“Our order was founded centuries ago,” Perchet continued, “to protect the world from the threat of the Blight. To combat its spread, our predecessors chose duty over all else. They took the corruption into themselves that they might better destroy it. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their taint.” The Warden-Constable leaned down to a nearby table and picked up a large chalice, brimming with liquid.</p><p>Tanith felt the colour drain from her cheeks. She looked over to Blackwall — who, at least, had the decency to look guilty — and mouthed several curses in his direction. No wonder the Wardens wouldn’t tell their recruits what the Joining was. If she’d known that drinking darkspawn blood was a part of it, Tanith would have gladly put the noose around her own neck back in Montfort. The human conscripts did not seem thrilled about it either, backing a pace or two away from the Warden-Constable.</p><p>“Now I will speak the words that have been said since the first,” Perchet said. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.” She was close enough now that Tanith could see the pitch-black contents of the chalice, could smell them too, pungent herbs and tar and rotting meat.</p><p>“No,” the tall conscript said, his voice trembling. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me!”</p><p>A Warden standing behind him drew her sword. The message in that simple movement was clear. There was no turning back now; it was this or death. The conscript let out a high whimper and stepped reluctantly back towards the hearth.</p><p>The Warden-Constable continued as though she had not been interrupted. “Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn.” She bowed her head. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.”</p><p>There was a pause that lasted a lifetime.</p><p>“Tanith,” she said. “Step forward.”</p><p>Between the oppressive heat and the reek of festering things, Tanith was surprised that she was still standing upright at all. Breathing in through her mouth, she took one slow step towards the Warden-Constable. The older woman smiled at her, almost kindly, and placed the chalice into her hands. The metal was warm, the liquid inside black as pitch, the stench of it strong enough to make Tanith’s gut roil.</p><p><em> Close your eyes, hold your nose, and try not to think too hard about it</em>.</p><p>She brought the chalice to her lips, and drank.</p><p>The blood was like fire going down. Perchet only just managed to take the vessel out of Tanith’s hands before she fell, lurching forward onto her knees and coughing violently. It was like drinking acid, like drinking poison, like drinking hate. The liquid adhered to the sides of her throat, closing it up, leaving her gasping for air. She felt her muscles spasm, clawed desperately at the flagstones for purchase. Something nearby was screaming, and it took Tanith a long moment to realise that it was her. There was an unbearable pain, a flash of knowing, and then all was darkness.</p><p>When Tanith woke her head was pounding. She blinked against the firelight, trying to remember how much of Dyl’s awful homebrew she had put away the night before. Except, no, that was wrong. She wasn’t in Montfort, was she? She was somewhere else. Tanith remembered the dim roar of the sea, the smell of salt, pennants flapping in the wind.</p><p>It came back to her slowly, in pieces. Once she had almost returned to her senses Tanith sat up, groaning as the room around her span violently.</p><p>“Don’t move too quickly.” The Warden-Constable’s voice. “It will take a while to wear off.”</p><p>Tanith leaned forward, bracing her head against her knees as the world righted itself. Eventually she lifted it again, squinting as her vision came back into focus. The hall was mostly empty now. Perchet was still there, along with Blackwall and Nataly, all three of them standing watch over her. Nataly looked pleased, Blackwall anxious, the Warden-Commander as inscrutable as before.</p><p>“Where are the others?” Tanith asked.</p><p>All three of them glanced reflexively behind her, and Tanith turned to see what they were looking at. Two human-sized shapes on the ground, covered over with white sheets. One was spattered with blood. Tanith tried to muster some sympathy, and could not.</p><p>“It is always unfortunate to lose recruits at the Joining,” Perchet said. “But we did not lose you. Congratulations are in order.”</p><p>Tanith got to her feet, swallowing back another wave of nausea. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Welcome to the Grey Wardens, Tanith,” the Warden-Constable said. “I’ll leave you to rest.” She gave a small bow before walking away, her footsteps light against the flagstones.</p><p>“You’ll need a drink first,” Nataly said once Perchet was gone. “Had to down a full bottle of sack mead after my Joining just to get the taste out of my mouth. Let me see what I can rustle up.” She left too, heading out of the hall through a side passage.</p><p>Once they were alone Tanith looked up at Blackwall, her face a mask of disgust. “Darkspawn blood?” she said. “Seriously?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, he said. “We really aren’t supposed to tell you.”</p><p>“Was it…” Tanith grimaced. “You know… from the quarry?”</p><p>“It was.”</p><p>Tanith groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment. “That’s… I can’t even think about that.”</p><p>“At least now you never have to do it again,” he said.</p><p>“Ah, small mercies,” Tanith said, managing half a smile.</p><p>Blackwall returned it, and his eyes softened for a moment. “I’m glad you survived. I know you probably don’t believe it yet, but I think you’ll be a good fit for the Wardens.”</p><p>“We’ll see,” she said. “Stranger things have happened, I’m sure.”</p><p>“I should let you get on with it,” Blackwall said. “Ask Nataly to show you where you’re sleeping. Goodnight, Tanith.” He nodded brusquely at her, then headed off towards the doors.</p><p>Tanith frowned at his back, hesitated, then called out after him. “Hey.”</p><p>He turned around. “Yes?”</p><p>“Here.” She held her hand out in front of her.</p><p>For a moment Blackwall just stared at her, his face slightly disbelieving. Then he walked back over to where she stood and shook it. The palm of his hand was warm and calloused, his fingers enveloping hers.</p><p>“I—”</p><p>“Don’t say anything,” Tanith said. “You’ll ruin it.” She pulled her hand away abruptly, sticking it deep inside the pocket where she kept the chevalier’s feathers.</p><p>Blackwall shook his head at her, laughing low in his chest as he turned and left the hall.</p><p>While she waited for Nataly to return Tanith sat down on one of the long benches, trying to ignore the foulness that still coated her tongue. Her eyes alighted on the shrouded corpses by the fire. Had the darkspawn blood killed them? Or had they tried to escape, and been cut down?</p><p>It didn’t really matter, in the end. Better them than her.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Each Night In Dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Recruitment was a solitary profession, and so it suited Blackwall well. For the most part he enjoyed the quiet, the long days on the road and in the wilderness, the ability to pick and choose where and how he worked. Save for the occasional journey with a reluctant conscript, he was accustomed to being alone. However, after several months of travel, he was always pleased to return to Fort Astor. He usually spent a month or so at the keep before setting off on his next mission, resting and training and drinking with his comrades. There was always some necessary bureaucracy to complete with Margot — which was less appealing — but on the whole he enjoyed his rare visits to the outpost.</p><p>The morning after Tanith’s Joining he went to seek out Clement. The two of them had joined the order at more or less the same time, and he was one of the few people who Blackwall would consider a close friend. He found him in the training yard at the back of the keep, practising his swordplay. Each strike against the pell was clean and precise, a clear hallmark of his military background.</p><p>Clement waved when he saw Blackwall approaching, pushing his red hair back from his eyes. “Morning! Managed to shake off the road yet?”</p><p>“Not quite.” After months of sleeping on bare earth and in caves and under bridges, readjusting to the minor comfort of a bed was always a challenge. Blackwall had woken that morning aching from head to foot, and the stiffness in his muscles had yet to ease.</p><p>“Too bad,” Clement smiled cheerfully. “Still, must be nice to be home. I don’t know how you and Nataly do it. I’d go mad if I had no one to talk to for months on end.”</p><p>“Some of us prefer the quiet.”</p><p>“Not me. I’d end up ranting to my own shoes after a week of it.” Clement was a gentle man despite his martial prowess, the youngest son of some noble family in Velun. Behind his cut-glass accent and courtly manners he was as warm and guileless a man as Blackwall had ever met.</p><p>The two of them traded their weapons for blunt blades and sparred a while, taking advantage of the few hours before the yard grew crowded. They were fairly evenly matched, Clement’s height giving him a reach that balanced out Blackwall’s strength. Clement won the first bout, though not easily, and they sat on the low wall around the yard as they caught their breath.</p><p>“I’m getting rusty,” Blackwall said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You don’t see much combat on the road.”</p><p>“You should ask Margot for a reassignment,” Clement said. “Come out with us on our next campaign.”</p><p>“I’m not sure she’d agree to it. We’re still not bringing in enough recruits, as far as she’s concerned. If Margot had her way I’d be using the Right of Conscription on every sorry bastard between here and the Heartlands.”</p><p>“Poor old stick,” Clement sighed. “She does like everything just so, doesn’t she?”</p><p>“She certainly does.” The Warden-Constable was a good leader, strong and fair and dedicated, but at times her lack of flexibility bordered on brittle.</p><p>“Your new recruit’s caused a bit of a stir, I understand. It’s been a while since we’ve had a fresh mage in the ranks.”</p><p>“That reminds me,” Blackwall said. “Nataly owes me a sovereign.”</p><p>Clement laughed. “Oh, she’ll hate that. She was so sure she’d pick one up at Ghislain next month.”</p><p>“It was half an accident. I wasn’t expecting to find a mage outside the Circle.”</p><p>“Yes, she’s alienage, isn’t she?” Clement said, then frowned. “Is it true she killed a chevalier?”</p><p>“She certainly did.”</p><p>Clement’s eyes went very wide. “Maker’s breath. Really? I’ve a second cousin who’s a chevalier. Biggest, toughest brute I’ve ever met.”</p><p>“Well, whoever this one was, I’m sure he wasn’t expecting to find an apostate hiding in the alienage.”</p><p>“Probably not. But she’s so…” Clement gestured helplessly. “She doesn’t look the type, does she?”</p><p>Blackwall huffed out a laugh, pointed to the scratch marks on his cheek. “Clearly you’ve not spent enough time with her.”</p><p>“I’d heard those were her doing.” Clement winced a little. “Thought it might be rude to ask.”</p><p>“Serves me right for getting in her way.”</p><p>“Hywel’s been assigned to train her, I think.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” Blackwall nodded. “He’ll have his hands full, that’s for sure.”</p><p>“Oh, you know Hy,” Clement said affectionately. “Loves a challenge.”</p><p>“Well she’s definitely that,” he said. “Right. Ready for a rematch?”</p><p>Blackwall stood up, but something in Clement’s expression made him sit back down again. He looked anxious suddenly, his usually open face creasing into a frown.</p><p>“Everything alright?”</p><p>“I need to talk to you, actually,” Clement said. “Listen, Blackwall. Harrin’s gone.”</p><p>“He is?” The news was like a punch to the gut. “Shit. When?”</p><p>“About a month or so ago. He waited a while, in case you were on your way back, but…” Clement trailed off. “Well, you know. There wasn’t much putting it off after that.”</p><p>Blackwall didn’t need to ask where Harrin had gone. The grizzled old archer had been a Warden for decades by the time Blackwall had joined the order, and this departure had been a long time coming. Fort Astor had lost Wardens to their Calling before, of course, but this was the first time it had come for someone who he had considered a friend. If Harrin had left for Orzammar a month ago he would have long since arrived in the dwarven city, and may already have entered the Deep Roads. If he had gone underground, he was likely dead by now.</p><p>“How did he seem?” Blackwall asked. “Before he left.”</p><p>Clement smiled weakly. “Oh, you know Harrin. Took it in his stride, like everything else. I don’t think I ever really believed it would happen to him, you know? Such a tough old bird.”</p><p>“Well, you can be sure that when he goes down he’ll take a score of darkspawn with him.”</p><p>“Absolutely. We gave him a decent send-off, I think.”</p><p>“I’m sorry I missed it.”</p><p>“Never mind, eh?” Clement said. “We’ll raise a cup for him tonight. Bring Hy and Nataly, toast his name. It’s been a while since we’ve all been home at the same time.”</p><p>Blackwall chuckled. Clement was one of the few people who actually referred to the keep as ‘home’, although they all thought of it as such. “I’d like that.”</p><p>“Good,” he said, getting to his feet and retrieving his blunted sword from where it leant against the wall. “Best out of three?”</p><p>They sparred a little longer, and when the sun was high overhead Blackwall reluctantly left to keep an appointment with the Warden-Constable. There was always a great deal of paperwork to do after one of his long circuits around Orlais, and they spent a dull few hours writing up reports for Weisshaupt and entering the names of their new recruits in the outpost’s ledgers. The names of the dead were listed along those of the living, their deaths considered a Warden’s sacrifice.</p><p>It was late by the time they had finished, and when Margot glanced outside and saw the sky turning dark she dismissed Blackwall for the night. He made his way down to the mess hall to seek out his friends, looking forward to an evening of relative normalcy. They passed a pleasant few hours at their usual bench in the corner, catching one another up on the events of the past few months and swapping whatever little gossip the keep had to offer.</p><p>Clement told them in detail about his most recent mission. He and a few other Wardens had been sent to investigate reports of darkspawn raids on a noble estate outside Val Foret, only to discover that the attackers were nothing more than common bandits.</p><p>“Honestly, their faces when we showed up,” Clement said. “The poor buggers looked a little down at heel, certainly, but I don’t know how anyone mistook them for <em> darkspawn</em>.”</p><p>“There’s not a lot of folks who have <em> seen </em> a darkspawn,” Nataly pointed out.</p><p>“Oh, come on,” he frowned. “I’ve never seen a dragon. Doesn’t mean I look at every cow and go ‘oh look, that’s got horns, must be a small furry dragon’.”</p><p>“Isn’t that just like the nobility,” Blackwall laughed, draining his cup. “Can’t tell the difference between commoners and monsters. No offence, Clem.”</p><p>“None taken,” he said. “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure my father wouldn’t make the same mistake himself…”</p><p>After a while their talk turned to Harrin, and the mood grew a little more sombre. The old archer had been a friend of theirs for a long time, and it was strange not to have him occupying his usual spot at the head of the table. Blackwall tried to remember the last time that all of them had been in the same room together. A year ago, perhaps? He and Nataly were often away on recruitment, Clement and Hywel were occasionally sent out on missions around Orlais, and so it was rare for them all to be in Fort Astor at once. Harrin had been a constant, however. His days of adventuring were behind him, and in recent years he had remained mostly at the keep to train new recruits and assist Margot in her work. There were rumours among the Wardens that Harrin could have had the Warden-Constable’s job if he had wanted it, but that he had not been willing to take on the responsibility. It was a plausible claim. Despite his years of service to the order, Harrin had always been happiest on the sidelines.</p><p>They traded stories of their old friend, making each other laugh as they recalled his incredibly colourful range of curses, his insistence on fletching arrows at the dinner table, the pipe that hung permanently from the corner of his mouth. As the fire burned low in the hearth Clement raised his tankard.</p><p>“To Harrin,” he said. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.”</p><p>“In death, sacrifice,” the others echoed, then drained their cups.</p><p>Whether it was all the talk of the Calling that had caused it, Blackwall couldn’t say, but his dreams were bad that night. It was one of the first things he had been warned about after his Joining, the fact that his connection to the darkspawn would sometimes manifest in nightmares of the creatures. The reality of it had proven far worse than he had expected. The occasional visions lacked the intangible quality of dreams, the missing senses of touch and smell and taste. When Blackwall dreamt of the darkspawn he felt everything. The texture of jagged stone against his skin, the acrid scent of burning leather, a lingering foulness at the back of his throat. Here the hum was unbearable, a discordant wave of sound that assaulted every corner of his mind. He saw them too, crawling like insects on the corpse of an animal, thousands of twisted bodies swarming down into the stone, tearing at it with tools and teeth and broken fingernails, tunnelling ever-downwards, ever-downwards.</p><p>Blackwall woke gasping, drenched in cold sweat despite the warmth of the room. He sat up in bed, wiping his forehead dry with a shaking hand. It had been a long time since a dream such as this had come to him with such force. When he had first joined the order the nightmares had been frequent, but over the past half-decade they had waned almost to nothing. It was always an unpleasant shock when they returned.</p><p>He attempted to go back to sleep, but after half an hour of wasted effort he gave it up as a pointless endeavour. It always took a few hours to shake off one of these dreams, while the echoes still clung to his consciousness. Every time he closed his eyes he saw dark talons digging into stone, heard the creatures screaming. Instead he got up and left his chamber, making his way downstairs to the mess hall.</p><p>The long room was deserted at this time of night, the fire in the hearth little more than embers. Without the murmur of voices it was easier to hear the ocean through the long window, the roar and swell of it as it crashed against the rocks below. It was a clear night, and the reflection of the moon was in a thousand pieces on the water. Blackwall stared at it for a moment. The sea, almost more than anything else, was what he missed when he was away. It was the sheer endlessness of it, the sense of insignificance that came from looking at it. Feeling so small, so unimportant, was a comfort of a sort.</p><p>He walked from the mess hall to the kitchen, with the idea that lining his stomach might go some way towards getting him back to sleep. The room was dark, save for what little moonlight spilled in through the shutters. Blackwall made his way towards the pantry, but paused when he heard a sound from inside the alcove. The keep had a rat problem, as most old structures did, and occasionally they got up through the foundations. He turned the corner, expecting to find a rodent nibbling away at the supplies, and found Tanith instead.</p><p>She was leaning against the wall of the pantry, holding a bowl of dried fruit in one hand. When she saw him she jumped and dropped it, sending raisins and candied peel scattering across the floor.</p><p>“Shit!” she said, her mouth half-full. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”</p><p>“I didn’t know you were here,” he said, his own heart racing a little. “Why are you hiding in a cupboard?”</p><p>“I’m not hiding in a cupboard.” Tanith picked up the bowl and scooped up what was left of its contents. “I’m fucking starving.”</p><p>“Ah. Yes,” he said. “That tends to happen after the Joining.”</p><p>“Nataly said you got an appetite, but this…” she shook her head, sending her curls dancing about her shoulders. “I’ve been hungry before. Seriously hungry. But this is something else.”</p><p>“It eases off after a while,” he said. “I was about to get something to eat myself. If you’d care to join me.”</p><p>Tanith eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”</p><p>“Because I can’t sleep,” Blackwall said, shrugging. “Because if you don’t we’re just two people silently raiding a kitchen in the middle of the night.”</p><p>“Fine,” she said. “You probably know where the good stuff is, anyway. Came this close to eating a handful of flour earlier.”</p><p>Blackwall set about finding them something more substantial to eat while Tanith, at his suggestion, kindled the torches on the wall. Once she had finished she climbed up onto the large table in the middle of the kitchen, sitting cross-legged in its dead centre. When Blackwall brought her a plate over, cold chicken and hard cheese and bread, she just about muttered a thanks before falling on it. He noted the way she hunched, almost protectively, over her meal. It was something he’d seen while they were travelling too, an instinct he recognised from a dozen recruits before her. It was common in those for whom food had often been a luxury, a thing to be jealously guarded.</p><p>He stood at the end of the table, picking at his own portion. Now that it was in front of him he found that he wasn’t that hungry after all. The dimpled skin of the fowl reminded him too much of the withered flesh of the darkspawn, bringing memories of his dream back to him.</p><p>“So,” he said, looking for a distraction, “how was your first day as a Grey Warden?”</p><p>“Uneventful,” Tanith replied. “I slept past noon. Came down here. Ate. Went back to bed. More food. More sleep. To be honest, if this is all being a Warden is, I could get used to it.”</p><p>Blackwall laughed. “Unfortunately there’s a bit more to it than that.”</p><p>“Which is?” Tanith asked, looking up at him. The torchlight caught her eyes, sharp as flint. “No one’s actually told me what I’m supposed to <em> do </em>yet.”</p><p>“That’ll come,” he said. “The Joining is exhausting for most recruits. They tend to need a few days to recover first.”</p><p>Tanith shrugged, tearing a chunk of bread off the slab. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just hungry. So what comes next? You bake a darkspawn into a pie, make me eat that?”</p><p>“I swear, your days of consuming darkspawn are behind you. That’s strictly a one-time occasion.”</p><p>“Good. I did not enjoy it.”</p><p>“You’re not supposed to. It’s a grand sacrifice, not a country wedding.”</p><p>“Whatever,” she said. “Tell me what happens now.”</p><p>“Well,” he sighed. “You’ll stay at the keep for a while. Train with one of the more experienced Wardens. Spend some time with the archivist, learn a little of our history.”</p><p>“Sounds <em> riveting</em>.” Tanith’s tone was dry, but she smiled as she spoke.</p><p>“Then, when your trainer decides you’re ready for action, you’ll be assigned a role.”</p><p>“Such as?”</p><p>Blackwall counted off on his fingers. “Well, there’s recruiters, like Nataly and myself. We travel, find new conscripts for the order. Archivists. They keep the records, handle the correspondence, that sort of thing.”</p><p>“Hang on,” Tanith said. “So the Grey Wardens have clerks? Do they have to take the Joining?”</p><p>“We all do.”</p><p>“That doesn’t seem fair. Getting a stomachful of darkspawn blood just to write letters.”</p><p>“They can be called on to fight too, if it comes to it.”</p><p>“Still,” she said. “Seems like a rough deal. What else?”</p><p>“There’s the trainers. They mostly stay at the keep, coach the recruits. We have a couple of ambassadors. They’re responsible for making sure the order doesn’t get itself exiled like it did in Ferelden. But most of the Wardens here are soldiers. Darkspawn raid the surface sometimes, get through old entrances to the Deep Roads. Then it’s up to us to go and take care of them.”</p><p>Tanith nodded slowly. “Okay. And who decides what I do?”</p><p>“Trainers usually make recommendations,” he said. “But ultimately it’s up to the Warden-Constable.”</p><p>“Ah,” she said, her face falling. “Are there Grey Warden latrine-scrubbers? I feel like that’s where she’ll put me after yesterday. Don’t think I made the best first impression.”</p><p>Blackwall’s hand went unconsciously to his cheek. “Maybe not. But Margot isn’t unreasonable. She might keep you in training a little longer, I suppose.”</p><p>“Training me to what? Not attack all humans on sight?”</p><p>“I imagine that’ll be part of it.”</p><p>“Sorry about your face, by the way.” Tanith’s mouth twisted, her expression genuinely apologetic. “It was an accident. Sort of.”</p><p>Blackwall waved it away. “No harm done. I’ve had worse.”</p><p>“Now you’re just bragging,” she said. “We can all play the ‘who’s got better scars’ game.”</p><p>“I have a feeling I might have the advantage in that one.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Beat this.” Tanith was barefoot, and she reached down to roll her trouser leg up to her knee. Extending her leg, she pointed to a scar that ran from her ankle all the way up the back of her calf. The flesh was white and puckered, indicative of a deep wound that had healed badly.</p><p>“Maker’s blood,” he said. “Where did you get that?”</p><p>“Broke into a shem merchant’s place,” she said. “Must have had some kind of wards on the door. I’d only been in there five minutes when the guards came running. Had to break a window to get out in time, and I didn’t do the most elegant job climbing out of it.” Tanith ran her finger along the length of the scar. “Found some gainful employment after that. I’m not great at crime, turns out.”</p><p>“Clearly not,” he said. “Well, it’s impressive. I’ll give you that.”</p><p>“So?” Tanith crossed her legs again. “You got anything better than that?”</p><p>“I have,” Blackwall said. “But nowhere I can show you.”</p><p>She laughed, the freckled skin around her eyes crinkling. “Oh, so that way you get to win by default?”</p><p>“I suppose so.”</p><p>“Well, that’s no fun.” Tanith climbed down off the table, landing lightly on the floor. “Anyway. I’m going back to bed. Thanks for… breakfast, I suppose?” She nodded at the window, where the sky was turning light at the horizon.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he said. “Thank you for the company.”</p><p>She left without another word, closing the kitchen door quietly behind her. Blackwall brought in dozens of recruits a year, some of whom survived the Joining, but he wasn’t sure he had ever had a conscript like Tanith before. She was more wilful than most who consented to join the order, more mercurial. It was difficult to tell whether she was going to be an asset or a liability. Well, that would reveal itself in time.</p><p>Blackwall made a half-hearted effort to finish the food that was on his plate, then abandoned it. Outside morning was breaking, the birds that nested in the island’s rugged cliffs beginning to sing for the dawn. Pointless to attempt sleep now. Pushing down the last vestiges of the nightmare, he left to begin the day in earnest.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. With Harvesting Blades</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By her third day at Fort Astor Tanith was certain that she had been forgotten about. Ever since her Joining she had been waiting for someone to approach her, to tell her what to do and where to go, but no such instruction had materialised. At first she had been content with the opportunity to rest, to sleep in a bed that was more than a straw pallet on the floor, but now she was growing bored of it.</p><p>On her first night Nataly had shown her to the barracks, the dormitory-style rooms where the non-ranking Wardens slept. There were two-dozen beds in the long chamber, around half of which were presently occupied. Tanith’s bunkmates were polite to her, on the whole, but they made no attempt to interact with her beyond perfunctory hellos. It took a while for her to realise that they were afraid of her. Occasionally she would overhear whispers, snatched words from younger recruits, <em> apostate, murdered a chevalier, attacked a senior Warden</em>. Far from being upset by these comments, Tanith found herself relieved. If they were wary of her they wouldn’t try anything. The stories were a barrier, protecting her from their ire.</p><p>She spent most of her time sitting in the empty dormitory, alternately sleeping and staring at the wall, or else slipping down to the mess to eat at odd hours. The overwhelming hunger of the first day had faded a little, but not by much. Sometimes Nataly was there, and the dwarf would keep her company while she ate. It was a small kindness, a message to the other Wardens that Tanith was welcome among their number. The recruiter was warm and garrulous, easy to talk to, and when Tanith had questions Nataly answered them as bluntly as possible. It was pleasant to spend time with someone else who wasn’t human, in this castle full of shems.</p><p>On the morning of the fourth day Tanith was counting the stones in the barracks wall, considering whether or not to take another nap, when a runner came looking for her. The girl was young and mousy-haired, the light armour she wore a little large on her.</p><p>“You Tanith?” she asked, pausing at the end of the bed.</p><p>“That’s me.”</p><p>“You’re to meet your trainer in the armoury,” she said. “D’you know where it is?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The girl’s face fell. “I’ll have to show you. Hurry up, though. I've got five more messages to run before noon.”</p><p>Tanith considered moving as slowly as possible just for the fun of it, but the runner’s cheeks were turning beetroot-red and Tanith decided against torturing her. She pulled on her boots and followed the girl through the winding corridors and staircases of the keep, down to an unfamiliar part of the building. There were no windows that she could see, but still she could hear the distant booming of the ocean. Underground, perhaps.</p><p>The runner stopped by a large doorway and gestured inside. “In there,” she said. “Good luck.” Then she turned around and walked back the way she had come, so fast that it bordered on sprinting.</p><p>The door was open, but Tanith noticed several heavy locks that would make the room near-impenetrable when in use. She walked inside slowly, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimness. The armoury was almost as large as the main hall upstairs, but with higher ceilings and no homely paraphernalia. Instead the walls were lined with rack upon rack of weapons, every kind imaginable, some which Tanith had no name for. There were chests too, as sturdily locked as the room itself, and stands holding the same griffon-marked plate that she had seen so many of the Wardens wearing. Three padded archery targets leaned against the back wall, much worn from use.</p><p>The man standing in the middle of the room had his back to Tanith when she arrived, but he turned around once he heard her footsteps. An elf, she realised, a little surprised. His long hair was shaved at the sides, the remainder hanging in a braid down his back. He carried a staff of gnarled wood with a large crystal set into the top, the stone glowing a faint blue. A mage too, then. The man’s angular face lit up when he saw her, the intricate tattoos across his cheeks and forehead changing shape as he smiled.</p><p>“Welcome, da’len,” he said. “Thank you for coming so swiftly.”</p><p>“Didn’t have anything better to do,” Tanith said.</p><p>He laughed. “Oh, you say that now. An hour under my tutelage and you’ll wish you were back in bed.”</p><p>“You’re my trainer then?”</p><p>“I am indeed,” the man made a small gesture with his hand, placing it to his opposite shoulder and nodding his head low. It was oddly formal, but he grinned while he did it. “Hywel Ghinera. And yourself?”</p><p>“Tanith Lavellan.”</p><p>“A good name,” he said. “I warn you now, it’s been a long while since I’ve had an apprentice. We’ve not had a new mage here in half a year at least. I was getting quite accustomed to my life of idleness when you arrived.”</p><p>“Two weeks ago I was used to not being a Grey Warden,” Tanith said. “Things change.”</p><p>“That they do.”</p><p>His accent was strange, softly lilting in a way that she didn’t recognise. Something occurred to her with a sudden thrill.</p><p>“Are you Dalish?” she asked. Like most alienage elves, as a child she had harboured dreams of running away to join the clans in the wilderness. This was her first time meeting one of them in person.</p><p>“I <em> was </em>Dalish,” Hywel corrected gently.</p><p>“Before you joined the Wardens?”</p><p>“Before I was exiled. The Wardens came later. Didn’t much fancy being imprisoned in a Circle or murdered as an apostate, so I sought them out. It’s the closest to freedom the likes of you and I are likely to get outside of the clans.”</p><p>Tanith felt suddenly defensive. “I was free.”</p><p>Hywel fixed her with a serious look. “Yes, I’d heard as much. That’s interesting. We’ll talk about it later. But first,” he turned to the nearest wall. “We need to get you geared up.”</p><p>He moved from stand to stand selecting pieces of armour, crouching down to take some more items from one of the chests. Once his arms were full he walked over to Tanith and handed her the pile, then gestured to a side door.</p><p>“You can change in here. Hopefully this will all fit. Not new, I’m afraid, but nothing is around here.”</p><p>Tanith manoeuvred the door open with her foot and then kicked it closed behind her. The antechamber was tiny, containing nothing but a torch in a wall bracket and a low bench. She dumped the armour onto the latter and pulled off her clothes, grateful to be rid of them. One of the first things she had done the day after her Joining was to find the steams, where she had spent almost an hour scrubbing a week’s worth of grime and road dust from her skin. The clothes she had worn out of Montfort were all she had with her however, and so she had been forced to pull them back on day after day. By now the fabric was stiff, still stained in places with the chevalier’s blood.</p><p>The armour that Hywel had given her was not dissimilar to the set he wore himself. Dark leggings and padded undershirt, boots and gloves of brown leather, a tabard striped in the familiar blue-and-grey. The last was heavier than Tanith had expected, and she almost lost her balance when she pulled it over her head. Rubbing the fabric between finger and thumb, she felt something hard and metallic inside. The boots pinched a little, and she had to adjust the buckles at her hips, but aside from that everything fit relatively well. She opened the door and stepped back out into the armoury.</p><p>“That’s more like it,” Hywel said approvingly. “How does it feel?”</p><p>“Alright,” Tanith said, twisting her shoulders to check the fit. “Maker, it’s <em> heavy </em> though.”</p><p>“The tabard’s lined with mail,” he said. “Not the most comfortable garment in the world, but you’ll be grateful for it when a genlock tries to put an arrow though you.”</p><p>“Genlock?” she frowned.</p><p>Hywel waved a hand. “Time enough for that later. Right now I want to talk about your magic.”</p><p>“What about it?” It was still strange acknowledging her power so openly, let alone discussing it in detail. There was a part of her that expected Templars to come bursting through the door at any minute.</p><p>“You must have been keeping it hidden for a long time.” Hywel’s brown eyes glinted, obviously impressed. “How did you manage it?”</p><p>Tanith shrugged. “Never really thought about it. I just didn’t use it where people could see me.”</p><p>“You make it sound so simple,” he said quietly. “But when you were younger? You can’t have had that kind of control when it first manifested.”</p><p>“My mother,” Tanith said. “She taught me some of what she knew before she died.” Her voice was sharp. This wasn’t something that she was willing to talk about.</p><p>To his credit, Hywel didn’t press the issue. “You didn’t come here with a weapon.”</p><p>“No. They don’t sell staves in the alienage market, funnily enough.”</p><p>“Would you mind showing me something?” he asked, stepping aside and pointing to the targets at the back of the room. “I’d like to have an idea of what you can do.”</p><p>“Alright. If you insist.”</p><p>Tanith closed her eyes and pulled in a slow breath, feeling for the veins of magic that ran through she world. When she located them she siphoned a little off, taking power into her body until the tips of her fingers were tingling. Then she opened her eyes and threw her hands forward, sending a bolt of lightning arcing out towards the target. It hit slightly off-centre, several bright flashes whipping off to either side before the spell dissipated.</p><p>“Excellent,” Hywel said, suddenly animated. “I can definitely work with that. You’ve never used a staff at all, I gather?”</p><p>Tanith shook her head.</p><p>“You should try it.” He walked over to the weapon racks and retrieved one, smaller and less decorative than his own. It might easily be mistaken for an ordinary quarterstaff, or perhaps a walking stick. “There’s power enough in your attack, but no control. If you cast a spell like that when you’re fighting in close quarters you’ll hit half of your comrades along with the enemy. A staff allows for focus.”</p><p>He passed it over to her, laughing when Tanith hefted it in her hand.</p><p>“What?” she said.</p><p>“You look like you’re about to beat a man to death with it,” he said. “Which you can do, in a pinch. But try holding it a bit further down, so you can direct the energy.”</p><p>Tanith did as he said, adjusting her grip until she could comfortably point the staff towards the target. “Now what?”</p><p>“Think of it as an extension of your arm. Instead of channelling out through your hands, let it carry down through the wood.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“I don’t know how else to explain it, da’len,” he shrugged. “Just give it a try. If you blow something up that’s my fault.”</p><p>“Fair enough.”</p><p>Tanith centred herself again, carefully aiming the staff as she drew in a little more power. This time she tried to focus on its direction, pushing it out through the palm of her hand and into the wood. To her surprise it almost worked, a narrow bolt of energy flying from the staff and into the target. It wasn’t very large, or very effective, but it was certainly more accurate.</p><p>“Look at that!” Tanith said, inordinately pleased. “First time!”</p><p>“Well done,” Hywel said. “A little more practice and you’ll be as strong with that as you are with your hands.” When Tanith moved to return the staff he shook his head. “No no, that’s for you. Store it here, if you wish, but I’d recommend keeping it on your person. You need to get accustomed to carrying it.”</p><p>Tanith turned the weapon over in her hands, examining it. The wood was not quite smooth, spidered all over with little cracks and fissures. Something occurred to her then. She went back into the antechamber and retrieved the chevalier’s feathers from the pocket of her discarded trousers, then wedged them into one of the narrow gaps near to the top of the staff.</p><p>When Hywel saw this he burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s very good,” he said. “There’s nothing I admire more than audacity. Give that here a moment.”</p><p>Hywel took the staff from her, then passed his hand gently over the feathers. They had been dirty and battered from a fortnight in Tanith’s pocket, but his touch restored them to their former bright glory. He handed the staff back over.</p><p>“There. Now they shouldn’t be damaged if you’re throwing fireballs around.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Tanith said, stroking her fingers over the soft edges of the feathers. She could feel the familiar sensation of magic there. “How did you do that?”</p><p>“I’ll show you tomorrow,” he said. “Call it an incentive for coming back. Margot says we’re to meet every day until I deem you ready for service.”</p><p>“Fine,” Tanith said. She kept her voice nonchalant, but in truth she was genuinely excited. In the alienage her magic had been a dangerous thing, a secret to be hidden away lest she reveal herself and be captured by the Templars. To be able to use it openly, to talk about it and practice it and learn how to use it properly, was a novelty beyond measure.</p><p>Suddenly Hywel turned towards the armoury door, waving his hand. “Hey!”</p><p>Tanith turned to see Blackwall passing by the room, stopping in his tracks when he heard Hywel’s call.</p><p>“You finally brought me a good one,” Hywel said. “Took you long enough.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.” Blackwall walked a few steps into the room. “How are you getting on?”</p><p>Hywel gestured to Tanith, who held her staff out and pointed one toe dramatically.</p><p>“What do you think?” she said. “Do I look like a real Grey Warden yet?”</p><p>Blackwall was silent for a beat before speaking. “Yes,” he said. “Very good.” Then he turned on his heel and walked back out of the room.</p><p>“Mythal’enaste,” Hywel sighed. “He’s not a bad sort, you know. Just has no manners to speak of.”</p><p>“That’s alright,” Tanith shrugged. “Neither do I.”</p><p>“Look, da’len, I’d be very happy to do this all day, but Margot told me I was to take you to the archives once you were geared up.”</p><p>“Really?” she asked, disappointed. “Is that all?”</p><p>“For today,” he said. “We’ll have longer tomorrow, I promise. Come along, now. Odette will skin me alive if I’m late.”</p><p>Hywel led the way to a room near the top of the tower. It was a small chamber, made to feel smaller by the sheer volume of books and chests and assorted bits of furniture that filled it. There seemed to be no particular order to the place. There were stacks of tomes on chairs and in corners, scrolls dumped haphazardly on the desk in the centre of the room, a lonely apple core on the windowsill. An elderly woman was standing by a lopsided bureau, scribbling something with a quill, and she turned around and scowled as they entered.</p><p>“You’re late.”</p><p>“We’re not late, Odette,” Hywel said patiently. “This is Tanith. Try not to bore her to death.”</p><p>“On with you,” the old woman said, shooing him away. “Unless you require a refresher?”</p><p>“I absolutely do not.” Hywel turned to Tanith and repeated his hand-to-shoulder gesture. “Until tomorrow.” Then he left the two women alone in the room.</p><p>Odette looked Tanith up and down, her watery eyes narrowing. She was tiny, her dark skin covered with wrinkles, and her blue robe had a griffon embroidered at the breast.</p><p>“You’re new?” she said.</p><p>Tanith nodded. “Very.”</p><p>“What do you know of darkspawn?”</p><p>“I killed a few,” she said. “On the way here.”</p><p>“I didn’t ask you if you’d killed them.” The old woman glared at her. “I asked what you <em> know </em>of them.”</p><p>“I know that they’re disgusting,” Tanith said. “And I know that ever since I drank their blood I’ve been eating seven meals a day.”</p><p>Odette grunted. “So nothing, then?”</p><p>“Pretty much nothing, yes.”</p><p>“Sit.”</p><p>She pointed to a chair. Tanith moved the books currently occupying it onto the floor and perched on the edge of the seat.</p><p>“Now.” Odette walked over to one of the shelves and pulled down a thick tome, emblazoned with a Chantry symbol. She opened it on the desk, licked a wizened finger, then slowly turned the pages. “The Canticle of Threnodies teaches that it was the Magisters of Tevinter who became the first darkspawn…”</p><p>Tanith had to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Lay sisters of the Chantry had come to the Montfort alienage sometimes, to dispense bread in exchange for rapt attention to their sermons. Often Tanith had chosen to go hungry rather than sit and listen to them. What did it matter whether the Maker existed or not, or whether Andraste had been his bride, when her situation remained exactly the same? There were a number of elves in the alienage who were as devout as any Revered Mother, and they were still just as poor as her. Clearly prayer did very little.</p><p>Still, Tanith attempted to listen as Odette droned on about the origin of the darkspawn, how the terrible sins of the Magisters had turned them to monsters. Once she was finished with the Chant of Light the old archivist moved onto some other ancient book, this one concerning the founding of the order and the history of the Blights. If Tanith had thought that this would be any more interesting, she was wrong. Her head was beginning to nod on her shoulders when Odette snapped shut the book she was reading from, startling Tanith to wakefulness.</p><p>“Am I boring you?” the old woman asked, her eyes like steel.</p><p>“No,” Tanith said. “No, it’s fascinating. Please, tell me more about Sumac.”</p><p>Odette’s face was flat. “I assume you mean Dumat? The first Archdemon to lead the horde? The scourge of the First Blight?”</p><p>“That’s what I said.” Tanith smiled benevolently.</p><p>“Hmm.” The archivist frowned at her, creating even more wrinkles on her already lined face. “I am aware that these histories are not always compelling,” she said. “But they are <em> necessary</em>. To understand what the Grey Wardens do you must first understand what we have already done. It is a great responsibility that you carry now. I suggest you treat it with the gravity that it deserves.”</p><p>“I just don’t see why it needs to be so complicated.” Tanith shrugged helplessly. “We kill darkspawn, right? Doesn’t matter where they come from. Just matters that they’re dead.”</p><p>“I wish it were so simple,” Odette said. She sighed, and her stern expression fell away. Now she just looked like a very old, very tired woman. “Tell me. What would you find interesting? What do you wish to know about the order?”</p><p>Tanith didn’t have to think very hard. “The Hero of Ferelden,” she said. “Alienage elf joins the Grey Wardens and saves the world? That’s more my kind of story.”</p><p>A sudden stillness fell over the room. It was though the air itself had shifted, turning charged like the moments before a storm. Odette stared at her, unblinking, and Tanith couldn’t help but feel that she had just said something incredibly wrong. Then the archivist walked over to a shelf in the corner, returning a moment later with a small leather-bound book.</p><p>“Here,” she said, handing it to Tanith. “This is a history of Garahel, Hero of the Fourth Blight. He too was raised in an alienage. He too killed an Archdemon. If it is a role model you seek, look to him.”</p><p>“Okay?” Tanith said, taking the book from her. “But why—”</p><p>“Lorelei Tabris is not a Warden you should idolise.” Odette’s voice had a hard edge to it. “Lorelei Tabris is not a Warden at all. Put all thoughts of her from your mind, girl. You will be better off for it.”</p><p>The archivist ended their lesson after that, making Tanith promise to return in three days for further study. It was a relief to leave that room, to get away from the tension that had arisen when Tanith had mentioned the Hero of Ferelden. She couldn’t understand why Odette had responded in the way that she had. In the ten years since the last Blight the children of Montfort’s alienage would fight over who played Warden-Commander Tabris in their games. If she was anything other than a hero in the world outside, this was the first Tanith had heard of it.</p><p>She headed to the mess for lunch, flicking through the book Odette had given her while she ate. The whole thing was written in overblown archaic prose, and Tanith managed  three pages before giving up.</p><p>“Oh, Maker,” Nataly said, sliding onto the bench opposite her. “They unleashed Odette on you, huh?”</p><p>“They did,” Tanith nodded. “How much time am I going to have to spend with her, exactly?”</p><p>“Too much. First lesson with her I almost defected.”</p><p>“I can see why.”</p><p>“Just stick with it. It’ll be over eventually, and then you can forget half the words she ever said to you.”</p><p>“Is it actually useful though?” Tanith asked. “Do any of those stories help you fight darkspawn?”</p><p>Nataly gave a half-shrug. “They kind of do, actually. Once she gets through the dry history part you’ll get into the practicalities. What book did she foist on you?”</p><p>Tanith showed her.</p><p>“Garahel,” Nataly said, smiling. “Guess that makes sense. She pushed Moroc the Maul on me.”</p><p>“I asked her about the Hero of Ferelden, but—”</p><p>“Ah.” The dwarf visibly cringed. “Yeah, don’t do that. We don’t talk about Tabris.”</p><p>“Why not? She’s the most famous Grey Warden alive.”</p><p>“Yeah, she is. And we’ll keep selling that story as long as it brings us in recruits. But here?” She gestured around the room. “Here we don’t talk about her. Honestly, Tanith, it’s better not to ask.”</p><p>“Well, now I just want to ask.”</p><p>“Of course you do.” Nataly smiled wryly at her. “Look, ask me again once you’re done with Odette, alright? It requires… background.”</p><p>“Is this just a ploy to get me to go to lessons?”</p><p>“Kind of,” she said. “Is it working?”</p><p>Tanith groaned. “Yes.”</p><p>“Well there we go. Be a good little recruit and I’ll tell you all about it.”</p><p>Their talk turned to other things, and when they had finished eating Nataly excused herself for training. Tanith returned to her room, where she made several more attempts to read the book Odette had given her before giving up in disgust. Instead she laid on her narrow bed and stared at the ceiling, turning over the day’s events in her mind. Odette and Nataly both had the same look in their eyes when she had mentioned the Hero of Ferelden, shame mingled with revulsion. Tanith burned with curiosity. <em> The Wardens love a ritual, and they love their little secrets</em>, Nataly had told her the day of her Joining. That was proving true already. She wondered how many more secrets she was yet to learn.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Opposition In All Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a month at the keep Blackwall was beginning to grow restless. Being back at Fort Astor had been a pleasant reprieve, but soon his urge to return to the relative quiet of the road grew strong again. Nataly had already departed on her next trip south, and Clement had been called up to investigate some dwarven ruins in the Fields of Ghislain. Without his friends around for company Blackwall was becoming tired of life at the keep, bored of the monotonous days of training and paperwork and endless waiting.</p><p>So he was relieved when a runner came to find him one morning, informing him that the Warden-Constable had requested his presence in her office. As soon as Margot gave him the order he could be on his way again, back to the transient solitude to which he was accustomed. He went to the Constable’s office directly, and was surprised to find Tanith leaning against the wall of the corridor. Blackwall had seen very little of her since her Joining. Hywel had informed him that her training was progressing well, but that she still had a way to go before she would be ready for active combat. Her self-taught magic was impressive, he said, but too erratic for use in battle. What she was doing outside the Warden-Constable’s office was beyond him.</p><p>“Are you lost?” Blackwall asked her.</p><p>Tanith frowned at him, folding her arms across her chest. She looked different in her Warden armour, more professional, but there was still a defiant tilt to her chin that no garment could hide. “I’ve been summoned to an audience with the Warden-Constable.”</p><p>“So have I,” he said. “I expect one of us will be waiting a while.”</p><p>“I hope it’s you,” she said. “I’ve been here ten minutes already.”</p><p>“How’s everything going with your training?” he asked. “Hywel says—”</p><p>“We really don’t need to make small talk.” Tanith leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, as though she had every intention of falling asleep where she stood.</p><p>Luckily it wasn't long before the door opened. The Warden-Constable looked tired, her brow furrowing as she nodded to them both.</p><p>“Come in,” she said.</p><p>“What, both of us?” Tanith said.</p><p>“That’s right. Hurry up, I’ve much to do today.”</p><p>Margot walked back inside her office, leaving the door open for them to follow.</p><p>Tanith gestured for Blackwall to enter the room. “Age before beauty.”</p><p>He gave her a sharp look but went ahead anyway, and the two of them pulled up chairs opposite Margot's desk. The Warden-Constable’s office was the most orderly room in the keep, every shelf and stick of furniture perfectly straight, every surface free of dust and clutter. A narrow window looked out over the cliffs towards Val Chevin, letting in the sounds of the gulls and the surf. Two magic-forged lanterns bathed the room in pale blue light, making the chamber feel colder than it was.</p><p>“Blackwall,” Margot said. “The guard-captain in Chatres has a lad in custody who he thinks would be good for the Wardens. I’d like you to travel there and see for yourself. Use the Right if you must.”</p><p>“Very well,” he said, relieved that he finally had a reason to return to the road. Chatres was not far, two or three days on foot, but it would at least give him something to do.</p><p>“Tanith,” she continued. “You will go with him. As you will during all recruitment missions for the foreseeable future.”</p><p>“What?” Tanith said, not bothering to hide her dismay.</p><p>Blackwall felt much the same. He carried out his work alone, had always carried out his work alone, and had no desire to change that now. “Warden-Constable,” he said. “With all due respect, I don’t think that’s necessary.”</p><p>Margot fixed him with a stare, her eyes an even brighter blue in the unnatural light. “With <em> all due respect</em>, I disagree.”</p><p>“But I’ve not finished my training yet,” Tanith said. “Doesn’t Hywel need to decide I’m ready for service first? And what about my lessons with Odette? They’re so…” her ears twitched “...compulsory.”</p><p>“This is precisely why I’m assigning you to this mission,” Margot said. “By all accounts you are a competent mage with not insignificant potential. What you lack, however, is discipline.”</p><p>“I’m plenty disciplined,” Tanith said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. “I’ve managed not to murder anyone since I arrived, haven’t I?”</p><p>“True as that may be.” The Warden-Constable’s voice was tense as a drawn bowstring. “You attacked a fellow conscript the moment you arrived at the keep. You injured a senior Warden—”</p><p>“Oh, come on,” Blackwall said. “I’d hardly call it an injury, Margot.”</p><p>She shot him a look that demanded silence, then turned her gaze back to Tanith. “Lastly, Odette informs me that you are neglecting to take your education seriously.”</p><p>“I take it very seriously,” Tanith said dryly. “I love to learn.”</p><p>“Miss Lavellan, this attitude is precisely why I am concerned,” Margot said. “Do you understand why familiarising yourself with our history is so important?”</p><p>“Honestly?” she said. “No, I don’t. It seems like a waste of time.”</p><p>Her candour made Blackwall’s toes curl. No one spoke to the Warden-Constable like this. Not if they knew what was good for them.</p><p>“The Grey Wardens are heroes during a Blight,” Margot said. “Then the world is grateful for us. When there is no Blight threatening the surface, however, we are simply an army with no allegiance to king or country. Or so many see it.” She sighed, smoothing back her tightly-pinned hair. “Through the years our order has been defamed, exiled, forgotten and vilified. We simply cannot afford to risk our reputation during peacetime, lest it affect our ability to act when a Blight does come. Look at what happened in Ferelden. Two Grey Wardens alone against the horde, and thousands dead who might have survived were we stronger. You have a responsibility now, Tanith. You are a Grey Warden, and you must learn to act like one.”</p><p>Tanith didn’t look convinced. The tips of her ears were pointing downwards, an unconscious sign of hostility that would not be lost on the Warden-Constable.</p><p>“Be that as it may,” Blackwall said. “I don’t see what recruitment can teach her. Isn’t it better for her to stay here, if you think she’s so likely to damage our reputation?”</p><p>“Exactly,” Tanith said. “That way I can embarrass you in private.”</p><p>“No.” Margot’s voice was firm. “Recruitment is a difficult life, and it would serve you well to see the work the order does. Perhaps a little privation will teach you some humility.”</p><p>“And what about the work itself?” Blackwall protested. “Margot, it’s hard enough convincing people to join the order at the best of times. Do you really think that she—” he glanced to Tanith, who scowled back at him “—do you think that having another Warden present will help matters?”</p><p>“You seem to have mistaken this for a negotiation.” The Warden-Constable spoke slightly louder than was necessary. “I am giving you an <em> order</em>. Argue all you like, but the fact remains that you have your instructions and they will be carried out. Leave for Chatres in the morning. Good day.” She looked down at the papers on her desk, as though Blackwall and Tanith had simply ceased to exist.</p><p>They took their cue and left, Blackwall closing the office door behind them.</p><p>“‘A roof over your head and food on the table’,” Tanith hissed at him. “So much for that, eh?” </p><p>“I’m not exactly delighted about it myself,” Blackwall said, not in the mood to squabble with her. He began to walk along the hallway and Tanith followed, keeping pace with him.</p><p>“Can’t you do something about it?” she said. “Tell her you don’t feel safe sharing a campsite with a human-killer or something?</p><p>“No,” he said shortly. “Once the Warden-Constable gives an order, that order doesn’t change. We just have to live with it.”</p><p>“But it’s a <em> bad order</em>,” she said. “I don’t want to go.”</p><p>“I thought you’d be itching to leave,” he said, not looking at her. “You weren’t exactly desperate to join the Wardens.”</p><p>“Well I like it here, alright?”</p><p>Something in her voice made him stop. He turned to look at her, saw the way her dark eyes burned with resentment. This wasn’t a ploy. For once she was being honest with him.</p><p>“You do?”</p><p>“Yes.” Tanith glanced at the floor. “It’s… good. It’s good being able to use magic without being locked up. It’s good being able to eat when I’m hungry. Sorry if I’m pissed off that I have to give that up.”</p><p>He looked at her for a moment. Tanith’s shoulders were slumped, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. What he felt wasn’t sympathy, exactly, but it was something close. He understood why she would be so reluctant to leave Fort Astor this soon.</p><p>“Recruitment’s not such a bad life,” he said. “Besides, we can be in Chatres and back within the week. This could be a test. If you prove yourself this time Margot might change her mind.”</p><p>Tanith didn’t look convinced. “I get the impression she’s not that easily swayed.”</p><p>“Maybe not.”</p><p>They were standing close to a window seat set into one of the tower walls. Blackwall sat down on one end of the bench, and gestured for Tanith to join him. She perched with her back flat against the wall, as far away from him as it was possible to be.</p><p>“She has a point, though,” Blackwall said. “There’s plenty of people out there who already despise the Wardens. If we upset the wrong person it could mean a world of shit for the order.”</p><p>“So I need to be all grim-faced and obedient like you?” she said. “No thanks.”</p><p>“When you’re here you can be however you like.” Blackwall nodded through the window. “But out there we’ve a reputation to preserve.”</p><p>Tanith followed his gaze towards the ocean below. “Out there in the sea?” she said flatly.</p><p>He sighed. “You know what I mean.”</p><p>“So what do you do on these missions, anyway?” She pulled her feet up onto the bench, resting her elbows against her knees. “Hang around the gallows and wait for a dramatic moment to intervene?”</p><p>“Sometimes,” he laughed. “It’s not always that exciting.”</p><p>“Shame.”</p><p>“We recruit all sorts,” he said. “Soldiers, nobles, criminals, farmers. No two people have the same reason for joining the Wardens. Some want to protect others. Some want protection for themselves. Some grew up on stories of the order and fancy themselves as heroes. Some are just looking for a safe place to sleep.”</p><p>“I can see why you might want to if you were desperate,” she said. “But what about nobles? Who’d trade in being rich and powerful for this?”</p><p>“Look at Clement,” he said. “He’s nobility. Youngest son of his family, no land or title to inherit. He held rank in the army but it was a commission, ceremonial for the most part. He met Margot at the tourney in Val Firmin. Thought joining the Wardens was a better option than sitting around like an ornament for the rest of his life.”</p><p>“Alright,” she said. “So that’s one.”</p><p>“Nataly too.”</p><p>Tanith gave him an incredulous look. “Nataly’s not a noble.”</p><p>“She was in Orzammar,” Blackwall said. “A minor house, but still. Her parents had arranged an advantageous marriage for her. Let’s just say that Nataly was not enthusiastic about it. Walked all the way through the Frostbacks to get here.”</p><p>“Good for her,” Tanith said, the corner of her mouth quirking into a smile. “Hywel told me he was exiled from his clan but he never said why.”</p><p>“He’s never told me either,” he said. “And I’ve never asked. Some people keep their reasons private. I respect that.”</p><p>“Still can’t believe that about Nataly.” Tanith said. “Trying to imagine her in a ballgown. I’m struggling.”</p><p>“Hers is one of the better stories, true. But it’s not the best.”</p><p>“Whose is?”</p><p>“Odette’s.”</p><p>“Seriously? Mistress old-books?”</p><p>“That’s the one.” Blackwall glanced around the corridor to make sure no one was listening. This story of the archivist’s recruitment was an open secret among the Wardens, but a secret all the same. “Odette was in her sixties when she joined the order. She was a scholar at the university in Val Royeaux, held some important position in their library. Anyway, she was married, and by all accounts her husband was a hateful bastard. So, one night, Odette slipped poison into his brandy.”</p><p>Tanith’s face became a picture of delighted horror. “She didn’t.”</p><p>“She did,” he chuckled. “He died — painfully, if the stories are to be believed — and the guard arrested her. Odette demanded that she be given to the Wardens rather than face execution. They agreed, and now here she is.”</p><p>“That tracks, now I think about it,” Tanith said.</p><p>“There’s a few here who remember her Joining,” he said. “Apparently she drained the chalice in one gulp. Didn’t even flinch. As far as I know she’s never even seen a darkspawn, but I wouldn’t go toe to toe with her for all the wine in Antiva.”</p><p>“Shit.” The elf looked impressed. “Odette. Who knew?”</p><p>“Needless to say I’m telling you this in confidence,” he said. “I don’t recommend asking her questions about it.”</p><p>“I wasn’t planning on it,” she said. “How about you? Why did you join?”</p><p>Blackwall fell silent for a moment. In the years since he was recruited to the order he had mostly come to terms with the events that had brought him there, but it was still a thing he preferred not to speak of. “Because it was the right thing to do,” he said, standing up from the bench. “Be in the courtyard at daybreak. The quartermaster can sort you out with provisions.”</p><p>“Daybreak?” she said, clearly appalled.</p><p>“That’s right. If we leave early we’ll only have to camp two nights instead of three.”</p><p>“Wow. True luxury.” Tanith stretched out on the seat. “I’ll see you there then.”</p><p>He considered saying more to her, trying to reassure her that them spending a few weeks on the road together wouldn’t be as awful as she might think, but decided that doing so would only antagonise her further. Instead he headed downstairs to the mess, inwardly trying to convince himself of the same thing. Hywel was there, sitting alone by the fire, and once Blackwall had fetched something to eat he joined the elf at his table.</p><p>“Have you heard?” Blackwall said. “Margot’s assigned your new student to recruitment duty. With me.”</p><p>“What?” Hywel frowned. “She never asked me about it.”</p><p>“Me neither,” he said, cutting into a lamb shank with more force than was necessary. “And now I have to chaperone our new recruit around the Orlesian countryside. Wonderful.”</p><p>Hywel, usually so insouciant, looked almost angry. “What’s the point in assigning me as her trainer if Margot isn’t even going to consult me on whether she’s fit for duty?”</p><p>“And? Do you think she is?”</p><p>“Close to it,” he shrugged. “But her magic’s still volatile. You can’t go untaught for most of your life and then be expected to master your craft overnight.” An irritated flick of his ears. “Why recruitment, anyway? She’ll be a much better fit for field combat, once she’s ready.”</p><p>“It’s a punishment,” Blackwall said. “Though whether for her or for me I can’t tell. Margot thinks it might teach her some discipline.”</p><p>“I doubt that,” Hywel laughed. “Fires like hers don’t quench easily. She and our esteemed Warden-Constable are similar in that way.”</p><p>“I don’t think either of them would agree with you.”</p><p>Blackwall thought of the way Tanith had spoken to Margot earlier, without a shred of deference. Having been a soldier before he was a Warden, respecting the order’s hierarchy came naturally to him. Coming to a place like this, with all of its unspoken rules and divisions, must be a strange experience for Tanith. In the alienage speaking out of turn to a human could easily mean death. Perhaps it was liberating somehow, to assert herself so openly without fear or threat of violence.</p><p>“Anyway,” Hywel said, breaking the momentary quiet. “Not much either of us can do about it now.”</p><p>“Is there anything I should be careful of?” Blackwall asked. “If her magic’s that unpredictable.”</p><p>“What, you mean possession?” The elf shook his head. “If that was going to happen it would have happened a long time ago. Just stay out of the way if she’s casting. And try not to put your foot in your mouth too often.”</p><p>“Thanks for the sage wisdom.”</p><p>“My pleasure.” Hywel smiled expansively and rested his feet on the table. “Perhaps it’ll be good for you to have some company. Develop some social graces.”</p><p>“With her?” Blackwall scoffed. “Not likely.”</p><p>“Quite. I dread to think what impact your combined charm will have on our recruitment numbers. Fort Astor will be abandoned within the year.”</p><p>Later that evening, when Blackwall was packing in preparation for the journey to Chatres, he wondered how long the Warden-Constable would insist on prolonging this partnership. She was not an unreasonable woman, but once she got an idea lodged in her head there was no shifting it. He supposed he should resign himself to the circumstances. The week he had spent travelling with Tanith from Montfort to Val Chevin had been one of the most unpleasant of his life, and he had no desire for a repeat of it. Still, it seemed as though the elf was settling into her role with the Grey Wardens relatively well. Perhaps now they would find one another more agreeable now. Perhaps the sun would set in the morning, and the rain would begin falling upwards.</p><p>Blackwall fastened his pack securely and placed it next to his bed ready for his departure. Whether or not this would prove to be a terrible idea, only time would tell.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Outstretched Lay The Land</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith had been a city dweller all her life. She was accustomed to the constant low rumble of cartwheels against cobblestones, the reek of refuse and smoke, streets that teemed with people. Travelling along the Imperial Highway to Fort Astor had not been so different. It had been crowded with merchants making the trip west to Val Royeaux, turning the ancient road into one long market square. The shouts of wagoneers, the press of bodies, the piles of horse shit. It had almost felt like home.</p><p>The journey to Chatres was different. Their destination lay to the west of Val Chevin, and there was no convenient thoroughfare on which to travel. Instead she and Blackwall trudged along dirt roads and cut through forests, climbing hills and crossing valleys as required. How her companion managed to navigate this endless swathe of countryside, Tanith couldn’t begin to guess. Every copse of trees and grassy knoll looked the same to her. It was spring, and the land was beginning to bloom after a long, hard winter. Crocuses grew along the roadside, spots of yellow and purple breaking up the green, and the cherry trees carpeted the earth in blush-coloured petals. Tanith spent most of their trek simply staring at the landscape, drinking in this world so different to her own. She also spent a great deal of time sneezing, the soft smells of hedgerow flowers and wet earth apparently not agreeing with her sinuses.</p><p>Blackwall seemed to have given up on attempting to speak to her, a mercy for which Tanith was grateful. While she didn’t harbour the same animosity for him that she had on their first journey, she still found herself wary around the recruiter. A shem was still a shem, no matter how harmless they seemed. At least at Fort Astor she had been able to spend time with Hywel and Nataly, to keep company with others who understood what it was to live in a world so dominated by humans. Tanith would watch Blackwall at camp sometimes, when she knew he wasn’t looking, taking note of the methodical way he pitched his tent and built up the fire for the night. He was clearly more comfortable on the road than he had been at the keep, but beyond that he was unreadable to her. She didn’t understand how humans could interact with one another at all, flat-eared and inexpressive as they were. They had no way to indicate tone or nuance beyond their heavy voices and rough hands, making their speech seem wholly uncivilised to her. The evenings they spent together were silent for the most part, filled only with the high music the crickets made and the distant howl of the wind.</p><p>They reached Chatres on the afternoon of the third day. It was a market town, smaller than Montfort’s alienage, the large millpond in its centre the only feature of particular note. Its residents gaped openly as Tanith and Blackwall passed, gossiping in raised whispers on the front steps of shops and outside taverns. Clearly the people of Chatres recognised the Grey Wardens for what they were, and considered their arrival to be an exciting diversion. Tanith expected that it was the most interesting thing that had happened in the town for years.</p><p>There was a small, squat tower on the edge of the settlement with a faded banner hanging from its wall. Tanith recognised the sunburst sigil of the Orlesian army and fought back a shiver. How many soldiers bearing that mark had come through the alienage over the years, terrorising its citizens with threats or worse? Hywel had assured her that most military types would show Grey Wardens due respect regardless of race, but Tanith found that hard to imagine. She had never met a human soldier who wouldn’t spit on an elf as soon as look at them.</p><p>Blackwall stopped a hundred yards from the watchtower and turned to her.</p><p>“Alright. Our potential recruit is locked up in there. Just let me do the talking and we’ll be out of here in no time.”</p><p>“So this is how it’s going to be then?” Tanith said. “I just follow you round Orlais and watch while you chat to criminals?”</p><p>“For now, yes.”</p><p>“Thrilling,” she said. “I’m so glad I came.”</p><p>Blackwall didn’t respond to that, simply walked off in the direction of the tower. Tanith followed, hoping that whatever he had to do would be over quickly.</p><p>There was a soldier standing watch outside the door, and when he saw the Grey Wardens approaching he saluted formally.</p><p>“Captain Dupont said to expect you,” he said. “His office is upstairs.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded a thanks and entered the building, holding the heavy door open for Tanith. The inside of the tower was dim, smelling vaguely of damp, and the bare stone was a little slippery underfoot. They climbed a spiral staircase up to the first floor, where Blackwall rapped his knuckles against a door bearing the same heraldry as the banner outside.</p><p>“Come in.” The voice was deep, muffled by the wood.</p><p>They walked into a small room containing little more than a desk and a man sitting behind it. Captain Dupont was old, his jowls peppered with grey stubble, and he stood when they entered.</p><p>“Grey Wardens,” he said. “Thank you for coming. I’d offer you a seat, but…” Dupont gestured to the empty floor.</p><p>“It’s no trouble,” Blackwall said. “The Warden-Constable said you might have a recruit for us?”</p><p>“Yes,” the old soldier sighed. “Darius Vidal. Caught stealing from a merchant last week. Injured three guardsmen before they got hold of him.”</p><p>“Are they badly hurt?”</p><p>Dupont shrugged. “A few nasty cuts, a couple of bruised egos, but nothing lasting. Still, this isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s clear that spending a few nights in the cells is no longer a deterrent.”</p><p>“He’s a local lad?” Blackwall asked.</p><p>“Outskirts,” the captain said. “His family burn charcoal out in the forest. Poor reputation in town. There’s some want me to make an example of them with Darius. Take his hand, perhaps.”</p><p>“Bastards,” Tanith muttered under her breath. There were more than a few poor souls in the alienage whose right arms ended at the wrist, a brutal punishment for stealing what little they needed to eat.</p><p>She expected Blackwall to reprimand her for speaking out of turn, but instead he nodded slowly. “There’s little justice in that.”</p><p>“I quite agree,” Dupont said. He rose to his feet slowly, as though it pained him to do so. “He’s in the dungeon. I warn you, the boy may not go willingly. Hasn’t spoken a word since he arrived.”</p><p>“We’ll see what we can do,” Blackwall said. “Lead the way, ser.”</p><p>They followed Dupont down the winding staircase to a round chamber beneath the tower, where the cold and the smell of mildew were even stronger. There were three cells set into the wall, two of which were empty. At first Tanith thought the third was empty too, and that their potential conscript had already managed to escape, but when her eyes adjusted to the low light she saw a shape hunched in the corner.</p><p>“Darius.” The guard-captain spoke almost gently. “There are Grey Wardens to see you. I suggest you listen to what they have to say.”</p><p>The figure stirred, but didn’t turn around. Tanith could make out a skinny frame clothed in rough wool, a fall of dark hair.</p><p>Dupont turned to them. “I’ll leave you to your business.” Then he bowed politely and walked back up the stairs.</p><p>“What now?” Tanith said, keeping her voice quiet.</p><p>“Now I talk to him,” Blackwall said. “Wait here. I don’t want him to panic.”</p><p>Tanith leaned against the cold wall of the dungeon while Blackwall walked over to the cell door. He started talking to the lad, too low for her to hear. Darius did not reply or even look up, just remained hunched over in the corner. This continued for some time. She could make out a few phrases here and there — <em> shelter </em> and <em> pride </em> and <em> honour </em>— but that was all. Not once did the boy respond. Tanith had known youngsters like this before, their anger burning like a forge fire, more suspicious of kind words than harsh ones. She had been one herself.</p><p>After ten minutes Blackwall walked back over to where he stood, shaking his head.</p><p>“Won’t say a word. Ones like this are usually tough to crack.”</p><p>“Of course they are,” Tanith said. “He’s been chased by men in armour and dragged in here by men in armour and locked up by men in armour. Why would he want to talk to another one?”</p><p>Blackwall looked vaguely chastened. “Fair enough.”</p><p>“Can’t you use the Right of whatever?” she said. “Didn’t think you had to ask nicely. You didn’t with me.”</p><p>“I could use it,” he admitted. “But it’s usually better not to. Recruits who come willingly tend to cause less trouble. Imagine if we had a keep full of people like you.”</p><p>“Perish the thought,” Tanith said. “Here, let me talk to him.”</p><p>For a moment Blackwall looked like he might protest, but then he shrugged and stepped aside. “Couldn’t hurt.”</p><p>Tanith walked directly to the cell and ran the end of her staff hard over the bars. She could hear Blackwall sighing behind the metallic racket.</p><p>“Oi,” she said to the boy. “Get up.”</p><p>Darius ignored her, turning even further towards the wall.</p><p>“How long have you been in here?” she asked. “A week? I’m willing to bet this is the most eventful thing that’s happened since you’ve been locked up. If you don’t talk to me we’re going to leave, and then it’ll be nothing but walls and bars again.”</p><p>Still nothing. Tanith frowned at the back of his head.</p><p>“I might be wrong,” she said. “Maybe a rat will run over your foot one night, if you’re lucky. Or you’ll accidentally swallow a spider while you’re sleeping. That might be fun.”</p><p>“Go away.” The tiniest voice, so muffled that for a moment Tanith wasn’t sure whether or not he had spoken at all.</p><p>“Oh, so you can speak,” she said.</p><p>“I don’t want to talk to you.”</p><p>“You’re talking to me already. Don’t give up now.”</p><p>Darius turned around slowly, revealing a pale, hawkish face with deep-set brown eyes. He was thin, muscles tensed like a feral dog preparing to bite. At a guess Tanith would put him at eighteen, maybe a little older.</p><p>“What do you want?” he said.</p><p>“You know what we want,” Tanith said lightly. “We want you to join the Grey Wardens. What I don’t understand is what <em> you </em>want. As far as I can tell you’re keen to sit here until someone decides it’s time to lop your hand off. Doesn’t make much sense to me.”</p><p>“Better than fighting monsters,” he muttered.</p><p>“Ah. So you’re afraid,” she said. “Never mind. No place for cowards in the Wardens. Take care.”</p><p>Tanith moved as if to leave, then smiled to herself as Darius called out after her.</p><p>“I’m no coward.”</p><p>She turned back to face him. “I didn’t think you were. His nibs upstairs told us it took three guards to catch you. Said you left a couple of them bloody as well.”</p><p>“Left all of them bloody,” he said.</p><p>“How’d you manage that?” Tanith asked.</p><p>“I’m alright with a dagger,” Darius shrugged. “The guards round here sit on there arses all day mostly. They’re slow. Wasn’t hard.”</p><p>She chuckled. “Sounds like you taught them a lesson about idleness.”</p><p>The smallest flicker of a smile on the boy’s face. “Certainly did.”</p><p>Tanith leaned her staff against the wall and sat down on the stone floor so the two of them were eye-to eye. From this angle she could better see the gaunt hollows of Darius’ cheeks, the hunger in his face.</p><p>“What were you stealing?” she asked quietly.</p><p>“Cut a purse off Martin Beade. Not like he couldn’t afford it. Owns half the town.”</p><p>“And he caught you?”</p><p>Darius shook his head. “Didn’t even see me. I’d have got away easy if the Widow Niel hadn’t clocked me and started screaming bloody murder.”</p><p>“Impressive,” Tanith said, meaning it. “I was never good at pickpocketing. Got caught the third time I ever tried it. Bastard thrashed me so badly I couldn’t see straight for a week.”</p><p>Darius looked a little surprised at this, as she had thought he might. “You were a thief?”</p><p>“Not really. Being a thief requires subtlety. A trait I’ve been reliably informed that I lack.”</p><p>“Just need to be smart about it,” Darius shrugged. “Keep watch, move fast, get out.”</p><p>“Seems like you’ve got a bit of skill,” Tanith said. “That’s why we’re here. You could turn that to something useful.”</p><p>He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“What else can you do?” she said. “Wait until they chop you up or chuck you out? What happens when you get caught again?”</p><p>“I won’t get caught again.”</p><p>“And how many times have you said that in your life?” Tanith said. “Come with us and you’ll never have to cut a purse again. I bet darkspawn make better sport than lazy backwater guardsmen.”</p><p>Darius shivered a little at that. “Darkspawn. You really kill those things?”</p><p>“Now and then.” She spoke noncommittally, not entirely sure how often Grey Wardens actually fought the creatures.</p><p>“What are they like?”</p><p>“Ugly.”</p><p>He laughed, a quick chuckle that was over almost soon as it had started. “So are the guardsmen.”</p><p>“Sure,” Tanith grinned. “But killing a guardsman makes you a murderer. Killing darkspawn makes you a hero.”</p><p>The boy went quiet again for a moment. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, his brow furrowing deeply. “I’d have to leave Chatres.”</p><p>“You would,” she said. “Have you got family here?”</p><p>“Aye.”</p><p>“They going to be better off if you’re in prison?”</p><p>“Suppose not,” he said.</p><p>“Then come with us,” she said. “Don’t spend the rest of your life in some poxy yokel town, stuck in a cell or worse. This is a better option. I promise.”</p><p>A minute ticked past in perfect silence, broken only by a slow drip of water from somewhere in the dungeon. Then Darius looked at her and nodded.</p><p>“Good,” she said. “Let’s get you out of here.”</p><p>Tanith straightened up and walked back over to where Blackwall waited at the side of the room, a shit-eating grin plastered across her face. When she reached him she rested her hands on her hips, cocking her head to one side.</p><p>“I thought you said this was hard?”</p><p>Blackwall looked suitably taken aback. “He agreed to join?”</p><p>“He did.”</p><p>“Maker. How did you manage that?”</p><p>“Obviously I’m just better at this than you are.”</p><p>“Well,” he said, clearly a little dazed. “Maybe we’ll make a recruiter of you yet. Good work.”</p><p>Blackwall put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, the gesture almost absent as he looked across the dungeon to the cell. Tanith swatted him away, making a show of her irritation, though in truth she was quietly pleased. She hadn’t really expected that Darius would listen to her, let alone that she would be able to talk him round. Perhaps there was something to be said for honour among thieves.</p><p>They returned to Dupont’s office and informed him of the successful recruitment. The old soldier sagged in his chair when they told him the news, his face a picture of relief. It appeared that he genuinely cared about the boy’s welfare, though Tanith’s more cynical instincts told her that he simply wished to wash his hands of the whole situation. Dupont suggested that they wait in Chatres’ only inn while he arranged the release, pressing some silver on them by way of thanks.</p><p>“I’ll take a free drink,” Tanith said once they were outside. “Do you often get tipped for recruiting criminals?”</p><p>“Hardly,” Blackwall said. “Usually it’s the other way around. Like with you. The guards get angry that you’ve stolen their prisoner and it’s wise to leave town before they can change their minds.”</p><p>They walked across the town square to the tavern and found an empty table in the corner. It was busy at that time of day, and more than a few conversations lulled when they entered the taproom. Tanith spotted one young man glance warily at the staff she carried, and she flashed him a smile that showed her teeth. The serving girl was excessively polite when she fetched their drinks, dropping into a nervous curtsey before scurrying away.</p><p>“Do people always behave this strangely around Grey Wardens?” Tanith asked, taking a sip of her beer. It was good, sweet and nutty, a far cry from the bitter swill she used to drink back in Montfort.</p><p>“Depends on the town,” Blackwall said. “In the bigger cities people usually don’t bat an eyelid. It’s different in the country. Some folk are afraid of us, some think we’re heroes. Some get hostile.”</p><p>“Why hostile?”</p><p>“Most people — most Wardens, for that matter — haven’t seen a Blight. There’s more than a few think that it’s not our right to conscript in peacetime. They think we’re building an army for the sake of it.”</p><p>“Well, aren’t we?” Tanith asked. “The last Blight was what, ten years ago? There won’t be another one while we’re living.”</p><p>“Hopefully not,” he said. “But there will be one day, and what happens then if the order’s been left to die out?”</p><p>“So we’re saving lives hundreds of years in the future?”</p><p>“More or less.”</p><p>She shook her head. “This job is weird.”</p><p>“It is at that.” Blackwall took a long drink. “But it looks like you’re coming for mine anyway, given what just happened.”</p><p>Tanith wrinkled her nose. “Beginner’s luck. Don’t tell the Warden-Constable, alright?”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because I don’t want her getting it into her head that this was a good idea,” she said. “Don’t want to be stuck out here with you forever.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>She kicked him gently under the table. “You know what I mean.”</p><p>“I do,” he said. “But I’m not sure you’re right about today being a fluke. You might have a knack for this line of work.”</p><p>“Why, because I bullied one kid into joining the Wardens?”</p><p>“Because you made him listen to you,” he said. “I couldn’t.”</p><p>“He’s a street rat,” Tanith said. “And I’m a street rat. Or I was, anyway. People like us don’t listen to people like you. We listen to each other.”</p><p>Blackwall looked at her for a moment. His pale eyes were serious, slightly searching. “You make a lot of assumptions about the kind of person I am.”</p><p>“I’m a good judge of character,” she said, looking away from him. Tanith hated how difficult it was to read him, how his ridiculous impassive ears gave her no indication of the true meaning behind his words. It made the back of her neck feel uncomfortably hot.</p><p>Thankfully the tower guard arrived before Blackwall could say anything else to her, informing them that Darius had been released and was ready to be escorted to Fort Astor. Tanith, never one to waste a free drink, downed what was left in her tankard before picking up her staff and heading out of the tavern. If this was going to be her life for the next however many months, she may as well reap the benefits.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Is Balance Sundered</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They made good time on the journey back from Chatres. The fair spring weather held, and the three of them were able to cover ground quickly. Darius was less of a burden than Blackwall had suspected he might be. The lad managed to keep pace with the Wardens as they hiked towards the coast, and he helped out in camp when it was asked of him. He remained mostly silent, but his quiet demeanour seemed now to be born more from shyness than ill temper.</p><p>Darius remained close to Tanith as they travelled, looking to her for approval every time Blackwall asked a question or gave an order. She had forged a bond with the lad back in the dungeon, and his initial wariness had given way to an almost fraternal devotion. Tanith, for her part, did not indulge him. She was blunt when they spoke, allowing him to follow her around but never to crowd her. It reminded Blackwall of the mouser cat at Fort Astor, a sleek tabby without a name who had mothered a litter of kittens the previous year. She had looked after them with a begrudging tolerance, dragging them around in her teeth and swatting at them when they acted out, affection and exhaustion both plain in her countenance. Tanith behaved towards Darius in much the same manner; protective in an aloof sort of way, and not afraid to hiss at him when required. In return he did everything she said without argument. This was useful to Blackwall in itself, but also had the added benefit of keeping Tanith’s irritation directed away from him for a while.</p><p>When they arrived back at Fort Astor it was late evening, and the sky was dark save for a thin band of blue on the western horizon. Darius stared wide-eyed at the keep as they approached it, nearly stumbling on the rough ground as he climbed down the coastal path.</p><p>“Watch yourself.” Tanith caught hold of his arm and yanked him back to his feet.</p><p>“It’s huge,” Darius said.</p><p>“It’s not,” Tanith replied.</p><p>“Well it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever seen before.”</p><p>“That’s because you grew up in a one-horse village in the ass-end of nowhere,” she said. “There’s nobles in Montfort with garderobes bigger than this.”</p><p>They continued their gentle bickering all the way down to the cliffs and over the bridge to the keep. The ocean looked black in the darkness, broken only by the white tips of the waves. Blackwall kept his eyes firmly away from it, as he always did, staring ahead at the torches that burned at the gatehouse. The watchman called a muffled greeting as the portcullis was raised, his words lost to the wind.</p><p>Blackwall knew that something was wrong the moment he stepped into the courtyard. Ordinarily it was noisy inside the bailey, the bustle of people going about their tasks or stopping to speak with friends filling the open square with sound. Tonight all was quiet. There were only two people in attendance, a pair of young recruits trading whispers in the corner. When they saw Blackwall and the others enter they looked up for a moment, then quickly turned back to their talk.</p><p>Darius was lagging behind slightly, still gawping at the keep, and Tanith jogged a few steps forward so that she could speak to Blackwall without the lad hearing. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he replied. “But it can’t be anything good.” There was a hard knot of trepidation forming in his stomach. In five years of service he had never seen Fort Astor so still.</p><p>They made their way up the steps to the keep proper, finding the central corridor as deserted as the courtyard had been. Without people giving life to the space it felt almost eerie, like a ruin left long-abandoned by its occupants. Their footsteps sounded loud on the flagstones, echoing softly from the high ceiling above.</p><p>“Where is everyone?” Darius asked. “Thought there’d be loads of Wardens here.”</p><p>“They’re probably training,” Tanith replied easily. “Have to keep your skills sharp, if you’re going to fight darkspawn. No time to loiter around in hallways.” This was a barefaced lie — no one would be training this late, and plenty of Wardens spent large chunks of their time loitering about the keep — but Blackwall was grateful that she had told it. What the boy would be facing next was unsettling enough without their discomfort adding to it.</p><p>When they walked into the main hall it was clear where most of the Wardens had gone. Nearly every table was full, and clusters of people gathered against the tall bookshelves and by the fire. The hum of voices was lower than it usually would be for a congregation of this size, everyone speaking quietly if they were speaking at all. As Blackwall entered the room one Warden got up from her table and approached him, her eyes very wide. He recognised her as one of the archivists, Adalia, who occasionally acted as an assistant to the Warden-Constable. Ordinarily she was a picture of composure, but now she looked almost frantic. Several strands of hair had come loose from her braid, and she fidgeted nervously as she spoke.</p><p>“Thank the Maker you’re back,” she breathed. “Hywel’s been on supply run since yesterday and with the others all away—” Adalia stopped suddenly, seeming to notice Tanith and Darius for the first time. “Blackwall, might we speak privately?”</p><p> Blackwall turned to say something to Tanith, but before he could ask her to leave she had clapped Darius on the shoulder and grinned at him.</p><p>“You look like a starved dog,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go to the mess, get you fed. If you behave I’ll show you where they hide the good brandy.”</p><p>Tanith steered him out of the room, shooting a significant look back at Blackwall as she went. He nodded to her, trying to convey both his thanks and his apologies, before turning back to Adalia.</p><p>“What’s happened?” he said. “Has someone died?”</p><p>“No.” Adalia’s voice was very quiet. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Blackwall, Harrin came back last night.”</p><p>Blackwall went cold. Harrin had left months ago, heading for Orzammar and the Deep Roads to find his death at the hands of the darkspawn. He would already be hearing the Archdemon’s song, would be suffering from the delayed corruption of the taint. The Calling was not a journey any Warden returned from. Harrin was no coward; he was an old soldier, and Blackwall knew he would have met his fate bravely. He was not the sort of man who fled from danger.</p><p>“Why?” Blackwall asked.</p><p>“We don’t know,” Adalia said. “He’s barely spoken since he arrived. The Warden-Constable has him in her rooms. She’s tried to talk to him but isn’t having much luck.” The archivist lifted her thumb to her mouth, chewing nervously on a hangnail. “You’re his friend. Perhaps you could… perhaps you’ll do better.”</p><p>The Warden-Constable’s chamber was at the very top of the keep’s tower. Blackwall climbed the stairs slowly, a part of him wanting nothing more than to turn around and flee. From the atmosphere in the hall and the looks on the faces of the other Wardens he knew that Harrin would not be in good shape. Not that this was surprising. Once members of the order began to hear the Calling they deteriorated rapidly, the once-slowed taint in their blood suddenly tearing through their flesh. Harrin had been gone for months, and should by all accounts be dead by now. Blackwall did not want to see his friend in whatever state he had returned in. He wanted to remember Harrin healthy, proud, cussing out whatever poor conscript got in his way or telling long rambling stories by the fire. Whatever waited at the top of the tower, Blackwall was certain that the man he had known was now gone.</p><p>He hesitated for a moment outside the chamber door, then knocked gently. “Margot? It’s me.”</p><p>“Just a moment.” The Warden-Constable’s voice was tight and strained. A few seconds later the door opened a crack, and Margot peered out at him. Her eyes were rimmed in red. “Did you hear?”</p><p>He nodded. “Adalia told me.”</p><p>“Maker help us,” she said. “I’ve been trying to make sense of it, but… Harrin is distressed. He will not tell me why he has returned. Or cannot. Would you speak to him?” Margot’s face was pleading. It was an expression Blackwall had never seen her wear before.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Margot opened the door a little wider, stepping aside to let him pass. “I should warn you,” she said. “Harrin is not as he was. It may shock you to see him so.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded. “I expected as much.”</p><p>The Warden-Constable’s chamber was sparsely decorated, and as neat as her office downstairs. A wide window looked out over the sea, the shutters thrown open to allow the salt breeze to roll in off the water. Several candles provided the only light, gently illuminating the figure curled on the four-poster bed.</p><p>At first Blackwall felt relieved when he approached the man. This was not Harrin. Harrin had never been so thin, his profile so flat. But as he drew closer he realised the truth. It was Harrin, but not as Blackwall had seen him last. The tip of the old Warden’s nose was missing, the rough flesh around it suggesting frostbite. His hands and feet were bare and Blackwall saw that they too were missing digits, those that remained blackened to the joint. There were other patches of withered flesh, on Harrin’s arms and the back of his neck, but these were not a result of exposure. This was the taint, its corruption gradually rotting his body from the inside out.</p><p>Harrin whimpered as Blackwall pulled up a chair at his bedside, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his face like a child. He was skeletal, his skin stretched tight across his bones. Even two months of privation could not have caused this. Harrin looked as though he hadn’t eaten in a year. Margot stood in a corner of the room, watching them anxiously.</p><p>“Harrin,” Blackwall said quietly. “What happened?”</p><p>The old archer said nothing, merely curled up in a tighter ball and sobbed. He had never been a man to show his emotions, always as hard and unyielding as granite. To see him cry unsettled Blackwall more than any of the man’s injuries had.</p><p>“Clement told me you went to your Calling,” Blackwall continued. “People don’t come back from that. Maker, man, what are you doing here?”</p><p>Harrin lifted a ruined hand to his eyes, clumsily wiping the tears away. His wrist shook as though palsied. When he spoke his voice was high and cracked, so quiet as to be almost inaudible. “Had to leave. Had to run.”</p><p>Blackwall glanced over to Margot before turning back to his friend. “Run from where? Orzammar?”</p><p>The old Warden nodded, the motion almost violent. “Couldn’t stay. Not with— not while they—” He coughed suddenly, a painful, wracking movement that seized him for almost a full minute. When he finally stilled something dripped from the corner of his mouth, darker than blood.</p><p>Blackwall leaned in closer. There was a smell around the man, something foul and rotting that the sea air could not cover. He fought back his revulsion and tried to speak gently. “Please, Harrin. If something happened to you there—” </p><p>“Nothing <em> happened</em>,” he said. “But I— I saw— Andraste have mercy, she spoke to it...” Harrin’s eyes were glassy, and he stared at a point off in the distance. “She spoke and it spoke back.”</p><p>“Who is ‘she’?” Margot said suddenly. “What did ‘she’ speak to?”</p><p>Harrin yelped at her words, cowering deeper into the bedclothes. Blackwall glared at the Warden-Constable, inwardly cursing her lack of tact, then looked back to his friend.</p><p>“It’s alright,” Blackwall said. “You’re safe. Take your time.”</p><p>For a moment Harrin simply lay there, unblinking. Then he swallowed, wetted his dry lips with his tongue, and spoke again. “The blood,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “That’s why she wants them. That’s why she— why she—” A choking sound escaped his throat.</p><p>“Harrin,” Blackwall said. “Who are you talking about?”</p><p>The old archer shuddered, then fell still. He drew in a long, rattling breath, closed his eyes tight. “Tabris.”</p><p>Blackwall felt his stomach drop. In the corner of the room Margot let out a small, strangled noise, and when he turned to look at her he saw the Warden-Constable clasping her hands as if in prayer. He had half-expected Harrin to say the name, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it.</p><p>
  <em> Lorelei Tabris. </em>
</p><p>There wasn’t a Grey Warden in Thedas who didn’t know of the Hero of Ferelden. Maker, there wasn’t a <em> person </em>in Thedas who didn’t. It was due to her efforts that the Fifth Blight had not destroyed the world, had never even spread beyond Ferelden’s borders. She roused the forces who had battled the darkspawn horde, personally leading the charge against the Archdemon. After her victory at Fort Drakon she was vaunted as a hero. Named Warden-Commander of Ferelden, she was given land and titles and was tasked with rebuilding the order in her home nation.</p><p>She had failed.</p><p>Vigil’s Keep, the new Grey Warden stronghold, was destroyed, and nearly every new conscript killed defending it. The city of Amaranthine suffered heavy losses during an attack by the darkspawn, leaving Ferelden once again at odds with the order. It was a catastrophic defeat, one which had undone much of the progress the Wardens had made since the Fifth Blight.</p><p>This story was less well-known than the tale of her victory. What happened next was known to fewer still, a secret reserved for senior Grey Wardens alone. After her attempts to restore the order failed, Tabris took those loyal to her and went underground. She set up in Orzammar, informing Weisshaupt that her duty demanded she be as close to their enemy as was possible, and insisting that they follow suit. Those who had encountered her around this period attested to her volatile state of mind, claiming that Commander Tabris had been behaving erratically throughout her time at Vigil’s Keep.</p><p>This left the First Warden in a difficult position. Tabris had acted without authorisation from Weisshaupt, and was now operating in direct contravention of their wishes. For any other Warden this would mean exile or worse, but she was the only living hero of the Fifth Blight. After her victory hundreds more had joined the order, leaving the Grey Wardens stronger and more influential than they had been in generations. To exile the woman who was responsible for this change of fortunes was unthinkable.</p><p>And so Weisshaupt had compromised. They granted Tabris a sham title and gave her stewardship of the Wardens approaching their Calling, on the express understanding that she would not return to the surface again. She never did. Since then the order had been rife with whispers about the disgraced hero, spreading through the ranks like wildfire. <em> She had looked into the eyes of the Archdemon and lived, at the cost of her sanity. She had taken her funeral rites with the Legion of the Dead. She habitually drank darkspawn blood to refresh her connection with the taint. </em></p><p>How much truth their was in these rumours, Blackwall could not say. He had joined the Wardens years after Tabris had retreated to Orzammar. But he knew that her name was an ill-omen among his comrades, a warning of what happened to those who were burdened with too much power. Weisshaupt allowed her legend to flourish as long as it brought in recruits, but behind closed doors Tabris was a reviled figure.</p><p>Blackwall attempted to ask Harrin several more questions, but the man had become insensible. He muttered words too quiet or too mangled for comprehension, shaking as he stared at nothing. Knowing that he would find out little more of use, Blackwall got up and walked over to where Margot was standing. The Warden-Constable looked devastated, her usually taciturn expression gone slack with worry.</p><p>“Tabris,” she breathed. “I didn’t want to believe it. But the moment he returned I knew. I just <em> knew</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t want to think about what might have happened,” he said. “What could scare a man so badly that he’d rather walk barefoot through the mountains than face it?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Margot swallowed hard. “But we must find out. Weisshaupt have heard… talk, over the past few months. Some of Orzammar’s deshyrs have raised concerns over Tabris’ residency. Now I can see why.” She looked back over to where Harrin lay.</p><p>“‘We’?” Blackwall said. “Does that fall to us, then?”</p><p>“To you, I’m afraid,” she said. “This must be dealt with swiftly. Myself aside, you are the most senior Warden presently at Fort Astor. The task is yours.”</p><p>“Maker’s blood,” he said. “What am I supposed to do? Turn up on her doorstep and demand answers?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Margot frowned. “This must be done carefully. For all we know Tabris was aware of Harrin’s escape, and is waiting for our arrival. You need a plausible reason for being there.” She seemed to consider this for a moment, then swore under her breath. “Oh, Maker. Odette will have my blood for this. Tabris has been petitioning us for years, demanding access to some of the materials in our library. They are rare things and beyond priceless, and so we have always refused. But these are desperate times.”</p><p>“So I’m to deliver books to her,” Blackwall said doubtfully. “What then? I wait politely for her to tell me what atrocities she’s been committing?”</p><p>The Warden-Constable gave him a sharp look. “Inform her they are a loan,” she said, “and that you will remain in Orzammar until such time that she is done with them. While you are there do your best to investigate what is happening. Watch her. Talk to her people. Find out what she is doing.”</p><p>“I’m no spy,” he said. “Isn’t there someone else better suited to this?”</p><p>“No one who could be on a ship to Jader by the morning. Expediency is key,” she said. “One more thing. I want you to take Tanith with you.”</p><p>Blackwall balked at the suggestion. “You can’t be serious, Margot. She’s been a Warden less than a season.”</p><p>“I know,” the Warden-Constable sighed. “I know. But there are… parallels, between her and Tabris.”</p><p>“What? Because they’re both elves?”</p><p>“<em>Alienage </em> elves, yes,” she said. “Both poor. Both conscripted after committing murder. I believe that Tabris may see something of herself in our new recruit. She is unlikely to take you into her confidence, but Tanith may have a better chance.”</p><p>As much as he hated to admit it, Blackwall could understand her logic. There was a camaraderie among the alienage elves in the Wardens which they did not share with others, a rapport that their human brothers-in-arms could never replicate. “Fine,” he said. “But I doubt she’ll go willingly.”</p><p>“Whether she is willing or not means very little to me,” Margot said. “I have more to worry about than the low opinion of one conscript.”</p><p>They were interrupted by a sudden scream from the bed. Harrin was coiled in agony, clawing at his skin as he thrashed about beneath the thin sheet. The corruption must be burning through his body by now, rending his flesh from within.</p><p>“He cannot go back to the Deep Roads,” Margot said quietly. “His suffering must end here.”</p><p>Blackwall caught the meaning in her words. “I should do it,” he said. “He was my friend.”</p><p>“No.” She shook her head. “That is precisely why you must not do it. I am the commanding officer. It is my responsibility.”</p><p>Harrin screamed again. The sound was barely human, more like the anguished cry of a half-dead animal.</p><p>“You should say your goodbyes,” Margot said. “Then you must gather what you need from the library. There is a ship leaving for Jader at first light. I expect you to be on it.” Her voice was hard again, and she would not look at him when she spoke.</p><p>Pointless to argue. He approached Harrin’s bedside and said a quiet, useless farewell, the sound of it drowned out by the old archer’s cries. This was a poor death for a Warden, one with no honour in it.</p><p>Blackwall stood and walked across the room, trying not to think about the task that lay ahead of him. He tried not to think of Orzammar, and how he would justify his presence to Warden-Commander Tabris. He tried not to think of Tanith’s face when she found out the one living hero of her people was a tyrant. He tried not to think about Harrin’s words, of fear and blood and something speaking back.</p><p>Before he left the chamber he looked over his shoulder, in time to see Margot unsheath one of her daggers and step toward Harrin’s bedside. Blackwall turned away, closing the door behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Place For Ourselves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith had taken one step onto the dock at Jader when her knees buckled beneath her.</p><p>“<em>Shit</em>.”</p><p>“Careful.” Blackwall caught her arm, pulling her back upright. “You might have your sea legs for a while.”</p><p>“Wonderful,” she said, swallowing back the wave of nausea that washed over her. For the duration of their journey from Val Chevin she had been sick as a dog, the lurching of the ship making her feel as though the whole world was spinning. “I hate the sea. I hate boats. And I hate you.” Tanith said the last without much conviction.</p><p>“Can you walk?” he asked.</p><p>“Maybe.” She pushed his hand away and took a few small, shaky steps. “Yeah, I think I’m good. Maker, that was <em> awful</em>.”</p><p>“I was like that on my first sea voyage,” Blackwall said. “It gets better in time.”</p><p>Tanith gave him a look that indicated she did not believe it in the slightest. “Maybe if I’m lucky the Hero of Ferelden will chop me into pieces and throw me in the Deep Roads. Then I won’t have to worry about the journey back.”</p><p>Blackwall looked a little guilty when she said that. During their passage, between Tanith’s bouts of seasickness, he had filled her in on their mission and what little was known of Warden-Commander Tabris. Needless to say, Tanith had not been delighted to discover their reasons for crossing the Waking Sea. The one living alienage hero was a psychotic traitor, and now they had to spy on her. Being a Grey Warden was proving much more eventful than Tanith had anticipated.</p><p>“So, what’s next?” she asked. “Oh, right. We go and sleep in the woods, and hope bears don’t eat us. You really spoil me, you know that?”</p><p>“I think Margot’s purse will stretch to rooms for the night,” Blackwall said. “You need to sleep off the sailing. We’ve a hard trek ahead of us.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, the mountains,” Tanith said. “Full of ice storms and crevasses and wolves. There really are so many exciting ways to die.”</p><p>It was late evening, and the narrow streets of Jader’s dockside were quiet. A light rain was falling, blurring the dim light from the lanterns and waking the foul scent of fish guts and runoff from the tannery. It reminded Tanith a little of the alienage. The two-storey timber buildings were packed closely together, many of the slate roofs missing tiles, and half the cobblestones were broken underfoot. A few stray dogs huddled in alleyways, picking through piles of refuse. They eyed the Grey Wardens warily as they passed, taking their spoils in their jaws before padding off into the darkness.</p><p>The tavern they found was close to the waterfront, the kind of place frequented by sailors and dockhands. It was dreary, reeking of dried sweat, the reeds and sawdust strewn over the bare stone floor looking as though they hadn’t been changed for months. Tanith found a table while Blackwall dickered over the price of rooms, noticing how the eyes of the other patrons followed her as she made her way through the parlour. Their looks were neither covetous or curious, but rather the thinly-veiled loathing of men who perceived an outsider. Tanith was an elf, a mage, a woman, and now a Grey Warden. She was about as outside as it was possible to be.</p><p>When Blackwall returned to the table Tanith saw how he glanced across the room and frowned slightly, likely noticing the same hostility that she had. He was followed a moment later by a serving lad — the only other elf in the building, Tanith noted — who laid plates and cups out on their table before scurrying away. The food was simple, rough barley bread and potato soup and rashers of bacon crackling with fat, but she fell on it like it was the grandest feast imaginable. Several days of eating nothing but ship’s biscuits, only to vomit them up shortly afterwards, had left her with a powerful appetite. When she was finished eating she poured herself a cup of wine from the bottle on the table, drained it, and then poured herself another. She looked up to see Blackwall watching her, his expression vaguely amused.</p><p>“What?” she said.</p><p>“You’ll make yourself sick again at that rate.”</p><p>“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Tanith said, taking another sip.</p><p>He chuckled. “Are you feeling any better?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said. “Much. How does anyone <em> live </em> on those things? Feels like the Maker’s shaking you like a dice cup.”</p><p>“It’s never much appealed to me as a life.” Blackwall took the bottle of wine from Tanith’s hand and poured himself a measure. “If I’m going to die I’d rather it was in honest combat, not because the weather decided to take a turn.”</p><p>“Is that how you see yourself going then?” she grinned. “In glorious battle?”</p><p>“Well,” he said, looking a little uncomfortable. “It has to be, in this line of work.”</p><p>“Ah,” Tanith said, the smile falling from her face. “I suppose it does.” As part of his long explanation on the journey from Val Chevin, Blackwall had told her about the Calling. The reduced lifespan didn’t bother her overmuch — most alienage elves were lucky if they lived past sixty — but the idea of dying a violent death in the Deep Roads was not a comforting thought.</p><p>“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said when a moment of silence had passed. “Must have been rough, seeing him like that.”</p><p>Blackwall looked down at the table as he spoke. “It was.”</p><p>“Do you have any idea what we’re looking for in Orzammar?” Tanith asked. “If the Hero of Ferelden is as crazy as she’s supposed to be I doubt she’ll just let us poke around.”</p><p>“Honestly, I have no idea,” he sighed. “I don’t even know if Tabris will see us. We’ll have to work it out when we get there.”</p><p>Tanith raised her eyebrows at him. “So there’s no plan?” she said. “We just show up at the crazy despot’s place and wait to see what happens?”</p><p>“In a nutshell, yes.”</p><p>“And it never occurred to you to take issue with that?”</p><p>“Margot gave an—”</p><p>“Oh, Maker, an order, yes, I know.” She leaned back in her seat. “You know that not all orders are good, right?”</p><p>The way Blackwall looked at her then was strange. Almost angry, though not, Tanith was certain, at her. “I do know that,” he said. “I know it well.”</p><p>“So next time tell <em> Margot </em> where to shove her order,” she said. “Save us a trip.”</p><p>They talked a while longer, of small things and the journey ahead, and all the while Tanith was aware of eyes on her. A group of men at a nearby table had been staring daggers at them ever since they had sat down, muttering in voices low and edged with bitterness. Fereldan, from their accents, probably sailors put into port. Tanith placed one hand on her staff, wanting it close in case anything happened.</p><p>“Shouldn’t be allowed,” one of the men said, his voice pitched loud enough for her to hear. When she didn't respond he rapped his knuckles on the table. “Oi. I’m talking to you.”</p><p>Tanith sighed, turning round in her chair to face him. “Excuse me?”</p><p>“I said, it shouldn’t be allowed.” His bald head nodded towards her staff. “I’ve got a cousin who’s a Templar.”</p><p>“And I’ve got a cousin who’s a handmaiden. Doesn’t make me the Empress.”</p><p>Tanith could see the way Blackwall had tensed in his seat. She turned back around, hoping that the sailor would drop the issue but knowing that he wouldn’t.</p><p>Sure enough, a few seconds later he called over again. “Why are you here, eh? Magic is dangerous. Thought they had Circles for people like you.”</p><p>Tanith plucked at the griffon badge pinned to the shoulder of her tabard. “Grey Warden. They let us out if we’re good.”</p><p>“Grey Wardens.” The sailor cleared his throat and spat on the ground. “It was Grey Wardens killed our Arl. Let darkspawn into our city. You should be locked up twice.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up,” Blackwall said to him. “You’re barking at nothing.”</p><p>“And who asked you?” The sailor rose to his not insignificant height. He was a brute of a man, all thick neck and heavy muscle. “I was talking to your rabbit.”</p><p>Tanith and Blackwall were both on their feet at the same time. Irritated, she gestured for him to sit, but he was too busy staring down the sailor.</p><p>“Be careful what you do next,” Tanith said, hefting her staff in her hand. “You said it yourself. Magic is dangerous.”</p><p>For a moment she thought the sailor might back down, but then his heavy brow furrowed and he took another step towards their table. His friends got up from their seats and followed, fists clenching at their sides as they approached the Grey Wardens. Tanith counted them; five in total, with plenty more watching on. She could conjure up a fireball big enough for five men, but not without burning the tavern down in the process.</p><p>Blackwall’s hand was at the hilt of his sword as he stepped in front of the sailor. “Sit. <em> Down</em>.”</p><p>“No,” the bald man said. “I don’t think I will.”</p><p>Tanith saw the way his body turned, how he pulled back his fist ready to strike. Without thinking she lifted her staff and swung it in the direction of the man’s skull. It connected with a sickening <em> crack</em>, and the sailor dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.</p><p>There was a moment of pure and absolute silence. Tanith looked from the sailor’s unconscious body to his approaching friends, then across the table to Blackwall. She shrugged. He nodded. Then all hell broke loose.</p><p>Tanith fell more than lunged out of the way when the first man threw a punch at her, dropping down to the floor and dragging herself under the table. Once she was on the other side she climbed up on top of it for a better view, quickly assessing the situation. The man who had tried to punch her was crouched low, looking to see where she had gone, and Blackwall was busy fighting off two others. The fourth man had picked the wine bottle off the table and was in the process of turning around, ready to enter the fray. Tanith threw herself onto his back, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and hooking one elbow under his neck. He thrashed about as she clung to him, trying to get her loose, but she only gripped all the harder.</p><p>The strength was draining from his blows when Tanith felt hands tangling in her hair and on the back of her tabard, ripping her free and dashing her to the floor. The blow took the air from her lungs and sent her staff clattering to the ground, and as she caught her breath she saw her first attacker standing over her. He moved as if to strike her again and she kicked upwards, was rewarded with a high scream as her boot landed between his legs. While the man was doubled over in pain Tanith scrambled to her feet, glancing wildly about for her staff. It had rolled halfway across the tavern floor, too far to reach easily. Backup plan, then.</p><p>When the sailor straightened up, still wincing, Tanith set her feet firmly on the floor. Twisting at her hips, she pulled her fist back and aimed for his nose. She put her full weight into the blow, letting the momentum of her body carry down through her shoulder and into her arm, the force of it sending the man sprawling.</p><p>“Ha!” Tanith cried, looking over to Blackwall as she pointed at the soldier’s prone form. “It worked!”</p><p>Blackwall had dispatched one of his own attackers, and was in the middle of grappling with the second. “Good form,” he called. “On your left.”</p><p>Tanith turned just in time to see the sailor whose back she had jumped on lunging towards her. She dropped low and reached across the floor to where her staff lay, grabbing it as she sprang back to her feet. When the man came for her again she lashed out wildly with the weapon, blows glancing off his shoulders and kneecaps and jaw, her attacker bellowing like a bull as he covered his face.</p><p>“Tanith! Over here!”</p><p>She turned to Blackwall when he called her name, saw that both men he had been tussling with were now flat out on the floor of the tavern. Taking his cue, she darted behind the last remaining sailor and landed a kick in the small of his back, forcing him to stagger in the direction of the other Grey Warden. Once he was close enough Blackwall grabbed him by the shirtfront and pulled him forwards, then landed a punch on his jaw that sent him flying into a nearby table, the wood splintering beneath his weight.</p><p>And then, suddenly, it was over. The sailors lay scattered around the tavern, either unconscious or near enough, a wide path of broken crockery and toppled furniture around them. Some of the other patrons were huddling in corners or pressed against the walls, having retreated there when the scuffle broke out. Many of them glared at the Grey Wardens, having clearly been rooting for the other side of the fight.</p><p>Tanith, still breathing hard, spread her arms wide. “Well?” she shouted. “Anyone else fancy a go?”</p><p>One heavily tattooed man stood up as if to challenge her, but his companion quickly yanked him back into his chair. No one else came forward.</p><p>Tanith turned around and caught Blackwall’s eye. He looked as dishevelled as she felt, his hair tousled at the back and one sleeve of his shirt torn. Like breaking through earth and finding a spring beneath, Tanith felt laughter bubble up inside of her. Her shoulders shook with it, and when she saw Blackwall fighting back his own smile it set her off even more. She threw back her head and laughed delightedly, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins making her feel lightheaded and giddy. She laughed until her sides hurt, until tears sprang to her eyes, until she had to bend over and brace her hands against her thighs to keep from falling.</p><p>Then a short, red-faced man in a dirty apron hurried out from a back room, scowling as he pointed to the Wardens. “Right,” he said. “Both of you. Out. Now.”</p><p>Tanith was still giggling as they were unceremoniously thrown out of the tavern. She hiccuped once and then tried to compose herself, pushing her hair back from her face.</p><p>“Oh Maker,” she said. “Now that felt like being home.”</p><p>Blackwall smiled at her as they began walking down the narrow street. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Didn’t <em> you</em>?” she asked. “Of course I enjoyed it. Sometimes you just need to get the blood flowing, you know?”</p><p>“I’ll admit, that’s the first good brawl I’ve been in for a while,” he said. “Though you should know, starting fights in taverns is exactly the kind of thing that got you saddled with me in the first place.”</p><p>“Right.” Tanith mimicked the Warden-Constable’s stern voice. “‘You are a Grey Warden, and you must learn to act like one’.”</p><p>Blackwall shook his head. “Margot would string us both up if she knew we’d been fighting in uniform.”</p><p>“Now there’s a woman who needs a good fight,” Tanith said. “A good fight or a good fuck.”</p><p>“Not much chance of the latter,” he smirked.</p><p>“Wait.” Tanith stopped in her tracks, suddenly horrified. “The Grey Wardens aren’t— I haven’t accidentally taken a vow of celibacy, have I?”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“Oh, thank the Maker.” Tanith clutched her chest with relief, then carried on walking. “You had me worried for a second there.”</p><p>“We’re not the Chantry,” Blackwall said. “Margot might live like a cloistered sister, but not everyone does. Clem and Hywel have been together for years. I’m sure Nataly’s got a girl over in Lydes, though she doesn’t talk about it much.”</p><p>“And you?” Tanith glanced over to him, certain she wasn’t imagining the way his cheeks coloured above his beard.</p><p>“No,” he said. “Life on the road doesn’t allow for much of… that.”</p><p>“That surprises me.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Tanith shrugged. “Some women are into that sort of thing.”</p><p>“What sort of thing?”</p><p>She gestured vaguely in his direction. “<em>T</em><em>hat </em>sort of thing. You know.”</p><p>“No, I don’t know, actually.”</p><p>“Never mind,” she said, laughing quietly. “So, what now? Find another inn to get kicked out of?”</p><p>“Ah.” Blackwall stopped and lifted the purse from his belt, looked through its contents. “I don’t think we’ve enough to cover it. If we pay for more rooms here we’ll run out of money before we get to Orzammar.”</p><p>“So old Margot’s stingy as well as stiff. Figures.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I think we’ll have to camp tonight.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Tanith folded her arms and looked around them, surveying the dimly-lit streets of Jader. It really was remarkably similar to the alienage. “I bet I can find something better.”</p><p>They walked through the docks for a while, Tanith looking around as they traversed the deserted city. Eventually she found what she was looking for, a building of rough stone with Chantry pennants hanging above its door. She made a circuit of the place, pausing when she saw a rain barrel leaning against the back door.</p><p>“Here,” she said. “This’ll do.”</p><p>Bracing one foot against the rain barrel, she swung herself up and caught hold of a first floor windowsill. She shimmied along that, then climbed onto one of the heavy beams that supported the Chantry roof. From there it didn’t take long to clamber up into the tower on top of the building, the great bronze bell humming a little as she bumped up against it.</p><p>Tanith leaned out over the edge and called down to Blackwall. “Are you coming up or what?”</p><p>“You expect me to climb that?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said. “Oh, shit, you’re afraid of heights, aren’t you? I forgot.”</p><p>“I am not afraid of heights.” There was a tense edge to his voice that confirmed to Tanith that he definitely was.</p><p>“So come up then.”</p><p>A pause. “Would you mind not staring at me?”</p><p>“Fine.” Tanith drew her head back and went to sit on the other side of the tower. From this vantage point she could see Jader stretched out below, a thousand winking lights, the masts of the tall ships against the dark water. From street level the city was ugly, but from up here it was almost beautiful.</p><p>A few minutes later Blackwall hauled himself into the tower, panting hard as he collapsed against the stone wall.</p><p>“You took your time,” Tanith said.</p><p>“I’m in full armour,” he breathed.</p><p>“It’s a poor craftsman blames his tools,” she grinned. “But you made it. Look at the view.”</p><p>“No thank you.”</p><p>“Go on,” she said, her voice teasing. “Take a look.”</p><p>Blackwall shook his head slowly, then turned towards the city.</p><p>“Not bad, is it?” Tanith said.</p><p>“No,” he said quietly. “How did you know to come up here?”</p><p>“Believe it or not, this isn’t my first night sleeping in a Chantry tower,” she said. “They’re dry, and no one’s likely to bother you. Ideal.” Tanith reached out and tapped the great bell with the toe of her boot. It gave out a low, sonorous purr, the sound vibrating in her stomach.</p><p>“Still,” Blackwall said. “I’m sure you would have preferred to sleep in a bed, after the last few days.”</p><p>Tanith shook her head, smiling. “Totally worth it. I had fun tonight.”</p><p>“That’s your idea of fun?” Tanith could see the amusement behind his deadpan expression. “Roughhousing in dockside taverns?”</p><p>“Absolutely,” she said. “I’ve got a feeling it’s yours as well.”</p><p>“Perhaps. Just don’t tell Margot.”</p><p>“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”</p><p>The earlier clouds had broken a little, sending pale moonlight spilling into the tower. Tanith saw a cut on Blackwall’s forehead she hadn’t noticed before, the pale glow making the blood seem almost black. The shadows picked out the angles of his features, the dark hollows of his eyes.</p><p>Tanith shook her head and looked back towards the sleeping city, letting her thoughts drift away with the wind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. All That Might Be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For all of Tanith’s complaints about travelling through the mountains, the journey from Jader to Orzammar required only a few day’s travel around the foothills. Still, it was a difficult trek. The light rain that had been falling when they came into port had not relented, growing heavier as the days went by. Blackwall could see how Tanith’s spirits crumpled with every passing hour, the way she grit her teeth as they trudged through yet another mile of road turned to mud. He still could not get a handle on this woman. For a moment back in Jader it was if some part of her had opened to him, like a sliver of light falling through an open doorway. But now she was closed up tight again, locked and barred and bolted, and they spent the better part of their days in silence.</p><p>One evening they came across a natural cave in a hillside, little more than an overhang of rock with a patch of dry earth beneath it. If they pressed on they could reach Orzammar by the early hours of the morning, but spending another minute in the torrential rain was less than appealing. Instead they decided to camp, reasoning that a little sleep would leave them better-prepared for what was to come.</p><p>Once inside the cave Tanith wrung the damp from her curls, sending water pattering onto the dry earth. The cold had burned her cheeks pink beneath the freckles, and she looked as miserable as a wet cat. While she settled herself against one of the raw stone walls Blackwall checked through the books and scrolls Tabris had requested, relieved to find them undamaged by the rain.</p><p>“I’ll see if there’s anything dry enough out there for firewood,” he said.</p><p>“Mmm.” Tanith didn’t look up at him, being presently absorbed in pulling off her boots and tipping out the water that had pooled in them.</p><p>There was still a little light when Blackwall searched the sparse woodland, the days long now that summer was approaching. The overcast sky made the landscape seem flat and dismal, the Frostbacks looming overhead like great snow-capped sentinels. He found a few dry branches in a thicket that was protected from the worst of the rain, a tangle of thorns that scratched at his gloves as he gathered them up. Mercifully they were still dry by the time he returned to the cave, and he stowed them in the furthest corner while he dug a low pit in the earth and lined it.</p><p>Once the kindling was stacked Tanith lifted a lazy hand towards it. The branches sparked into life, giving off a bittersweet aroma as they burned. She pulled an apple from her pack and ate it slowly, stripping away every morsel of flesh from the core before tossing it into the fire. Blackwall tried to think of something to say to her and failed. When this capricious mood was on her she was more likely to snap at him than respond in kind. He was learning to read her, the way that a lifted shoulder or half-closed eyelid could say <em> keep away, stay back, don’t touch. </em>Instead he reached into his own pack and pulled out the half-carved chunk of beechwood he had been working on since they had left Fort Astor, the outline of a fox beginning to emerge from the grain. He took the knife from his belt and began shaving small pieces away from the surface, the quiet scraping sound a counterpoint to the crackling of the fire.</p><p>After a few minutes of this the blade caught on a knot in the wood, sending a crack through its centre and splitting it neatly in two. One half clattered onto the floor of the cave.</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>Tanith glanced up, her forehead creasing. “Oh. Hang on.” She looked around, then picked up her staff and handed it over to him.</p><p>Blackwall blinked at her. “What’s that for?”</p><p>“It’s wood,” she shrugged. “You carve it.”</p><p>“Is that... safe?”</p><p>Tanith gave her staff a speculative look. “I think so. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. Let’s find out.”</p><p>She waved it in his direction until he took it from her hand. It was strange, this wood, lighter than it ought to be, its surface rough but sturdy. The yellow feathers wedged into the end of it fluttered softly in the updraft from the fire. Blackwall laid the staff across his lap and began scoring out a pattern near the base, grateful for something to do with his hands.</p><p>“We’ll get there tomorrow, then?” Tanith said.</p><p>“Should do,” he replied. “We’re only a few hours out now, I think.”</p><p>“You’ve not been there before?”</p><p>Blackwall shook his head. “Usually Wardens only go to Orzammar for their Calling. Didn’t think I’d be heading down there for twenty years or more.”</p><p>“You’ve not been a Warden that long, then?” Tanith asked, sounding a little surprised.</p><p>“Five years. Maybe six, now.”</p><p>“You never told me why you joined.”</p><p>He felt his hand tremble, just a little, and lifted it clear of the wood to keep from damaging it. “No. I didn’t.”</p><p>“What, is it rude to ask, or something?” Tanith crossed her legs and leaned forward, a hint of challenge in her posture.</p><p>Blackwall sighed. “It’s not exactly polite.”</p><p>“I’m not exactly polite,” she said. “Tell me.”</p><p>He sat very still for a moment. This was not a story he liked to share, not a part of his life he chose to think about. There were some at Fort Astor who knew, of course, friends to whom he had told his tale in return for theirs. But was this such an unexpected thing for Tanith to ask of him? He not only knew her how she had joined the order, but had played a significant part in it. Her eyes didn’t leave his face as she waited for a response, sitting motionless on the other side of the fire.</p><p>“I was a soldier,” he said at last. “In the Imperial army. Served for over a decade without a mark against my name. Then I was asked to—” Blackwall paused, shook his head. “No, not asked, I was <em> paid </em> to kill someone. Callier. An ally of the Empress. I ordered my men to carry it out, and they did. I wasn’t even there.”</p><p>He paused, hoping that Tanith would consider the story complete and move the conversation along. That way he could avoid telling the whole truth and be spared the guilt of lying to her. But Tanith said nothing. She just watched him, unblinking, her ears angled low against her skull.</p><p>“Callier’s family were with him,” Blackwall continued reluctantly. “I could have called my men off, but I didn’t. Once it was over I realised what I’d done. And I ran.”</p><p>“To the Wardens?” Tanith’s voice was low.</p><p>“No.” Blackwall shook his head. “To nowhere. Took up mercenary work for a while, drank most of my earnings. Then I crossed paths with a Warden recruiter up in Churneau. Wasn’t keen to go with him, at first, but I didn’t have anything better to do. He brought me to Fort Astor. Gave me a home. A purpose. Even left me a name, when he went to his Calling.” He was quiet for a moment, remembering the dark few years before he had come to Val Chevin. If he hadn’t been in Churneau that day, hadn’t been drinking in that tavern… it made him sick to think about what his life might have become. “Joining the Wardens gave me something to believe in. A cause worth fighting for. No politics, no assassinations. It’s an honest living.”</p><p>Tanith didn’t respond. He looked up to see whether she was still listening, and found her gaze still locked on him. There was a tension in the line of her back, a stiffness to her jaw that hadn’t been there before he started speaking. Blackwall felt guilt settle in his stomach, heavy as a stone. Perhaps she had imagined him to be an honourable man. Well, he had never claimed that was so. If she had made that assumption then the fault lay with her.</p><p>“You were in the Orlesian army?” Tanith asked.</p><p>The question took him by surprise. “Yes.”</p><p>“It was their soldiers used to come marching through the alienage,” she said, her mouth a grim line. “Throwing their weight around. Hurting people for getting in their way. Did you ever do that?”</p><p>“No,” he said, honestly. “I was on campaigns in Perendale, for the most part.”</p><p>“But you would have.” Tanith fixed him with that stare again. “If someone had ordered you to. Wouldn’t you?”</p><p>Blackwall could not even consider lying. There was something about Tanith that <em> demanded </em>truth, the world’s posturing giving way to her like wheat before a scythe. Hywel had told him that fires like hers did not quench easily, and he had been right. Now she burned more fiercely than the flames before her, the coals of her eyes boring into him as she waited for a response.</p><p>“Yes,” he admitted. “I probably would have. But I was a different man then, Tanith. Soldiers aren’t good at thinking for themselves.”</p><p>“And you are now?” she asked, too quietly.</p><p>Blackwall considered that for a moment. Was following orders for a noble cause so different? “I think so,” he said. “Or better, at least.”</p><p>For a long minute Tanith said nothing. Then she sat up and leaned back against the stone wall of the cave. The movement broke her gaze at last, lifting some of the tension.</p><p>“It would have been really bad if you’d lied to me just then,” she said.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Blackwall said. “I’m not proud of—”</p><p>“It’s alright.” Tanith looked down at her hand, twisting the simple band that she wore around one finger. “You’re not the only one who’s done terrible things. I’m not about to blame you for something you might have done.”</p><p>The silence stretched out between them, lasting for so long that Blackwall thought the conversation over. He picked up his knife and started carving patterns in the staff again, needing to keep himself occupied somehow. Then Tanith sighed, shifted uncomfortably where she sat, and spoke.</p><p>“My mother was a mage,” she said. “When I started showing the signs she taught me how to keep them hidden. How to stay safe, not get caught.”</p><p>Blackwall didn’t look up from his work. “Clearly she did a decent job of it.”</p><p>“Not easily,” she said. “I didn’t understand why I had to hide. I had this power in me, this <em> thing </em>that meant I could protect myself if I needed to. We fought all the time. I didn’t understand why I had to keep it a secret, why I couldn’t just rain fire down on anyone who tried to hurt me. It seemed so pointless to have a gift like that and never use it.”</p><p>He could hear the bitterness in her voice, the way it trembled a little as she spoke. This was not a story that would benefit from further interruption. Instead Blackwall continued to carve, carefully scoring the surface of the wood, listening intently all the while.</p><p>“When I was twelve there was a fire in the alienage,” Tanith said. “The Templars came and took my mother away.” She twisted the ring on her finger with more force. “I didn’t say a damn thing. Just watched while they dragged her through the gates. She died a few months later, when Nessum fever went through the Circle at Ghislain. My father drank himself to death after that.”</p><p>Something in the way she spoke told Blackwall that there was more to the story, some additional detail that she wasn’t telling him. It was so like the way he spoke himself that he recognised it instantly. He hazarded a guess. “Your mother didn’t start the fire, did she?”</p><p>Tanith shook her head stiffly. “No. No, she didn’t.”</p><p>He let that knowledge settle for a moment, tried to imagine what it must be like to carry. “You were a child, Tanith.”</p><p>“I was old enough to know right from wrong,” she said sharply. “You and I could sit here all night and make comforting excuses for what we’ve done. But all that does is make <em> us </em>feel better. It doesn’t undo anything. It doesn’t change anything.”</p><p>“I know,” he said.</p><p>Tanith’s ears flicked twice, like a butterfly shaking out its wings. “What’s the point in thinking about yesterday?” she asked. “Just takes your attention off tomorrow.”</p><p>“That’s one way of looking at it.”</p><p>“It’s the only way of looking at it,” she said firmly. “If you live in the past you die in the past. Might as well give up altogether.”</p><p>She was so sure of herself, so perfectly secure in her view of the world. What must it be like, to have that certainty? Blackwall supposed that a life spent in fear — of Templars, of humans, of another day without food in your belly — might not leave much room for doubt or reflection. Tanith had made herself a set of rules by which to live, and they had ensured her survival up to now. Perhaps having the freedom to regret was a privilege in itself.</p><p>“Is there any more food?” Tanith said a moment later, her voice a little more gentle. “I think I’ve eaten all mine.”</p><p>“You’ve finished it already?”</p><p>“I was hungry!” she said. “I chucked three days’ worth of food into the Waking Sea, if you recall.”</p><p>Blackwall rooted around in his own supplies, split what he had left in half and handed it over to her. Hopefully the Orzammar Wardens would see fit to feed them during their stay, otherwise they might meet an inauspicious death from starvation.</p><p>“Thanks.” Tanith chewed at a heel of bread, pulling a face at the texture. “This is rock hard.”</p><p>“It’s been sitting in my pack for the best part of a week.”</p><p>“Lovely,” she grimaced. “Listen, I wasn’t having a go or anything earlier. It’s nothing personal.” Her tone was light again suddenly, as though the simmering tension had never existed.</p><p>“I didn’t take offence.”</p><p>“I mean, you can take offence if you like,” she said. “I was being kind of an asshole.”</p><p>Blackwall laughed. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”</p><p>Tanith ripped her bread in two, showing her teeth when she smiled at him. “I don’t know if you’d dare.”</p><p>Once they had finished eating she went to sleep, barely making the effort to throw her bedroll on the bare earth before curling up on top of it. The woman could sleep <em> anywhere</em>. Within a few minutes Blackwall heard her breathing slow as she drifted off, her back turned to the fire. He was exhausted too, weary from the road and the rain, but rest did not find him so easily. In less than a day they would be in Orzammar, presenting themselves to Warden-Commander Tabris. Blackwall could not stop thinking about the way Harrin had shaken and screamed in the room at the top of the tower, the horror in his eyes when he spoke of what he had seen on his Calling.</p><p>Tanith’s words had given him pause. Had it been the right thing, to follow Margot’s order to come here? He could have protested, asked for more support, a better plan, could have insisted that Tanith, at least, remain back at the keep. The more he thought of what was being asked of them, the more he suspected that the endeavour might be nothing more than a suicide mission.</p><p>Blackwall glanced across the fire to where Tanith slept, her shoulders rising gently with each indrawn breath. He worried about her, for all her fire. Barely two months in the order and already a pawn in the Warden-Constable’s gambit. Perhaps he had been wrong earlier. Perhaps the Wardens were not so removed from politics after all. With that uncomfortable thought playing on his mind, he closed his eyes and searched for sleep once more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>apologies that this chapter is a little short, my eyes are playing up tonight and it's making writing difficult! think chapters are going to get a fair bit longer from here on out though, so hopefully that'll make up for it. as always you can find me @elfthirst on twitter or @filthyknifeear on tumblr if you want to come say hi!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Holes Clawed In The Earth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They set off early the following morning, packing up their camp and heading towards Orzammar while the sun was still cresting the horizon. The rain had stopped, and as they climbed up towards the Frostbacks they passed the occasional drift of dirty snow on the ground. Tanith was aching from yet another night sleeping on bare earth, but she hardly noticed the pain in her muscles. Her heart was beating like a drum, and not only from the exertion of their slow ascent. The full weight of their task was beginning to dawn on her. In the alienage the Hero of Ferelden was a figure of legend, a rare champion that the shems could not claim for their own. But Blackwall had painted Tabris in a different light, as a dangerous renegade whose name the Wardens dared not speak. Tanith had no allusions as to why she had been brought along on this mission. Warden-Constable Perchet looked at her and saw a pair of pointed ears, thought that this alone would be enough to form a kinship between her and the Warden-Commander. As though it were ever so easy.</p><p>She was stewing in these thoughts as they made their way up the mountain, but every one of them fled her mind as they rounded a corner and came upon the gates of Orzammar. They were huge, as tall as the tower at Fort Astor, great doors of stone hewn into the mountainside itself. A set of steps led up to them, decorated in the same geometric patterns that were carved into the rock, the sharp lines and angles so different from anything Tanith had seen in Orlais. It took her breath for a moment, looking upon this vast marvel of steel and stone. Blackwall had told her that Orzammar was a nation unto itself, but until now she had not truly believed it. But these were not simple city gates. This was a border.</p><p>There was a market in the open space outside the entrance to Orzammar, its presence incongruous against the mountain landscape. Human and dwarven merchants called out their wares from stalls hung with bright pennants, selling goods from both the city below and the lands outside. Tanith examined the tables as they passed, seeing a great deal more armour and weaponry than one might find in an ordinary market square. Dwarven-crafted, she assumed, from the severe lines and blocky embellishment. She had seen similar designs on the battleaxe that Nataly carried.</p><p>Once they were through the market she and Blackwall made their way up the stone ramp that led to the gates. They looked even larger up close, rising upwards from the ground almost as far as the eye could see. Two heavily-armoured dwarves stood sentry by the doors, and they bowed formally at their approach.</p><p>“Atrast vala, Grey Wardens,” one of them said. “We were not told to expect anyone from your order.”</p><p>“I’m afraid we didn’t have time to write ahead,” Blackwall said. “We’ve a delivery for the Warden-Commander of Orzammar.”</p><p>Tanith saw the dwarf’s expression harden. “Far be it from me to deny Commander Tabris her desires,” he said, voice thick with venom. “I suppose you had better come in.”</p><p>He made a gesture with his hand, and some unseen presence set the gates to opening. The noise the heavy doors made as they moved was ear-splitting, tons of stone scraping into motion. A wave of warm air drifted out as they parted, the smell of it vaguely sulfurous.</p><p>“Safe passage, Wardens,” the dwarf said. “And good luck.”</p><p>“This is our first time in Orzammar,” Blackwall said, his tone carefully neutral. “Where would we find the Warden-Commander?”</p><p>“House Branka’s old estate,” the guard said. “Diamond Quarter. Just keep going up. Can’t miss it.” He stepped aside and gestured for them to pass.</p><p>If the gates had seemed impressive to Tanith, what lay beyond them was something else entirely. The chamber they entered was vast, the ceiling so high above them that she could barely make it out. Huge statues lined the central thoroughfare, depicting dwarves holding aloft swords, hammers, mattocks. The brimstone-smell was even stronger here, pools of lava suffusing the stone with a warm glow. Tanith turned in slow circles as they walked down the middle of the hall, her mouth half-open as she took it all in.</p><p>“How did they build all this?” she asked. “Did they just carve it straight from the rock?”</p><p>“I have no idea,” Blackwall said. “I’m not sure the dwarves do either. There used to be a dozen cities like Orzammar, before the darkspawn came. Now it’s the only one left.”</p><p>“Shit.” Tanith tried to picture a kingdom that sprawled out beneath the world, an entire civilisation existing under her feet. How many darkspawn would it take to demolish eleven cities, cities made from mountains with doors as thick as a man standing? She shuddered to think of it.</p><p>Another set of doors at the end of the chamber opened out onto a sprawling plaza, great stone platforms and bridges crossing a natural cavern that seemed to have no end to it. It was as busy as any city on the surface, great crowds of people thronging every walkway. The air was warm and full of voices, dwarves haggling and gossiping and singing off-key, all echoing quietly off the raw stone. As Tanith stepped down into the main square a woman leading a pack animal walked past her, the beast grunting as it plodded slowly forward. The creature was heavily muscled, with two horns protruding from its skull and a back broad enough to function as a wagon. Tanith had never seen anything like it.</p><p>As they walked through the crowd she couldn’t help but notice the looks the dwarves gave them. Some were wary, some openly hostile, and others simply turned away the moment they saw the Wardens approaching.</p><p>“Okay,” Tanith said. “Clearly the dwarves are not huge fans of the Grey Wardens.”</p><p>Blackwall shook his head, frowning. “Nataly always said that Orzammar was a greater ally to the order than any surface nation.”</p><p>“Well, clearly things have changed.” Tanith gestured around her. “Unless dwarves have a really strange way of showing they’re pleased to see you.”</p><p>“The guard said ‘keep going up’. Where’s up?”</p><p>She looked around, pointed to a set of steps leading away from the plaza. Another pair of dwarves flanked the doors, their armour much more ornate than the gate guards’. As they approached the great stone stairs Tanith looked down off the edge of the platform, saw the swathe of molten rock that roiled at the bottom of the cavern.</p><p>“This must be fun for you,” she said, grinning at Blackwall. “Heights. Now with lava.”</p><p>“Don’t.” He headed directly for the doors, not looking down.</p><p>There were several more sets of steps before they reached the Diamond Quarter, taking them up into the higher reaches of the city. It was quieter there, cleaner too, the wide streets lit by braziers that burned a smokeless fuel. Great pots and trellises held the strangest plants Tanith had ever seen, great crawling vines heavy with pods the colour of insect wings, tall mushrooms that glowed with a pale phosphorescence. The dwarves they saw here were clearly nobility, their throats and fingers dripping with gold and jewels. As below, their eyes did not hide their scorn for the Wardens. This open derision did not fill Tanith with confidence. She had been told to anticipate hostility from the Hero of Ferelden and her people, not the entire population of a city.</p><p>Each estate in the Quarter was hung with a banner emblazoned with a large sigil; a shield, a snake, a stylised face. They walked past half a dozen of these palatial structures, so shallow from the outside that Tanith could only assume they were built deep into the stone. She was just about to ask Blackwall where the Warden stronghold was when they turned a corner and saw it.</p><p>“Right,” she said. “So I’m guessing that’s it.”</p><p>The griffon on the banner was different to those on the pennants at Fort Astor. Here it reared on its hind legs, wings outstretched, its claws drawn back as if ready to strike. The sigil was displayed outside the estates as the others were, but here it hung above the door rather than beside it. While every other house had at least a handful of dwarves milling around outside it, the stretch of walkway in front of the Grey Warden stronghold was perfectly empty. The guards at the door wore the familiar colours of the order, and Blackwall waved a greeting to them as he and Tanith approached.</p><p>One of the guards was elven, a longbow and a quiver of arrows on her back. The other, a tall human with a short beard, had no weapons that Tanith could see. Their expressions were eerily still as they looked up.</p><p>“Well met,” the elven woman said. “Do you follow the Call?”</p><p>Blackwall hesitated before speaking. “No,” he said. “Warden-Commander Tabris requisitioned some materials from the archives at Fort Astor. We’ve brought them for her.”</p><p>There was a long moment of silence before the guard spoke again. “One moment.”</p><p>She turned and went inside the estate, leaving them on the front steps. Tanith glanced at the human guard, but his eyes were fixed on a point in the distance. Clearly a warm welcome from their brothers-in-arms was not forthcoming.</p><p>The elven guard returned a few minutes later, a human woman following a few paces behind her. She was tall and pale, with dark hair cropped close to the skull and the bluest eyes Tanith had ever seen. Her robe was similar to the one Odette wore, though the emblem embroidered on the breast matched the one on the estate’s banner.</p><p>“Greetings to you.” Her voice was low, with an almost musical lilt to it. “My name is Hanna. It is my honour to serve as seneschal and archivist for the Warden-Commander.”</p><p>Blackwall and Tanith introduced themselves in halting, formal terms, the woman’s cool demeanour seeming to demand such conventions.</p><p>“Eava informs me that Fort Astor have seen fit to answer our requests,” Hanna said. The last word lifted on the final syllable, making it a question.</p><p>“Indeed.” Blackwall patted the leather satchel over his shoulder. “Warden-Constable Perchet apologises for the delay. They’re valuable texts, and needed to be transported safely.”</p><p>Tanith held back a sigh. The stiffness of his posture made the falsehood clear as day.</p><p>“Well then.” Hanna held out a long-fingered hand. “Let us delay no further, then.”</p><p>“I’m afraid not,” Blackwall said, too quickly. “The Warden-Constable wanted us to present the materials personally. We’re to return them to Fort Astor once the Warden-Commander is finished with them.”</p><p>There was a moment of tense silence, during which Hanna’s blue eyes turned dark. Then she gave them a thin smile and nodded once.</p><p>“Very well,” she said. “Follow me.”</p><p>The seneschal led them inside the estate, saying nothing as she walked its long corridors. Outside there had been a constant murmur of conversation, but here all was perfectly quiet. No, Tanith thought, not perfectly; there was a low hum in the air, the sound a constant backdrop to their footsteps. Tanith was not sure why she felt this, but she was certain that it was coming from the stone itself.</p><p>They passed a number of other Wardens as they made their way through their estate, but the place was as different from Fort Astor as Tanith could imagine. The Wardens there filled the keep with their movement and chatter, forever lounging in the courtyard or gathering in groups by the hearth. Here each person they passed was alone and silent, giving the visitors only a cursory look before continuing on their way. Tanith caught Blackwall’s eye and frowned slightly, an expression he returned before looking back to Hanna.</p><p>Eventually they stopped outside a large arched doorway. There was a tree carved into the stone, its branches spreading upwards almost to the frame. A vhenadahl, Tanith realised. The tree of the people, one of which grew in the centre of every alienage.</p><p>There was a heavily-armoured dwarf standing sentry at the door, his red beard hanging in two long braids.</p><p>“Oghren,” Hanna said. “We have visitors from Orlais. They seek an audience with the Commander.”</p><p>The dwarf’s voice was rough as gravel when he spoke. “The Warden-Commander isn’t seeing anyone today.”</p><p>“We’ve travelled a long way,” Blackwall said. “If we could just—”</p><p>“The Warden-Commander. Isn’t seeing anyone. Today.” Oghren growled the words, his eyes narrowing in contempt.</p><p>“I’m afraid you audience will have to wait, it seems,” Hanna said, bringing her hands together in front of her chest. “Warden-Commander Tabris has a great many commitments. Of course you may remain here until she has time to meet with you.” </p><p>Tanith saw Blackwall open his mouth to protest and quickly cut in. “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “We’d appreciate that.”</p><p>Hanna gave her the smallest of nods, then turned around. “The guest suite has been unoccupied for a while, but I’m sure you will be comfortable there.”</p><p>She led them down several more corridors, each turning at a sharp right-angle from the last. Tanith tried to picture the topography of the place in her mind. It must be like a rabbit warren running through the rock, or an anthill, dozens of passages sprawling deep into the stone.</p><p>Something had been itching at the back of Tanith’s mind ever since they arrived at the estate, and as they passed more silent Wardens she realised what it was. While many of them were dressed in heavy plate or long-sleeved robes, others wore garments that left their arms exposed. Among these, maybe half had bandages wound around their forearms. At first Tanith had put this down to injury, or perhaps the hand-wrapping some folk at Fort Astor used while they trained in unarmed combat, but she saw it more frequently than either of these explanations could account for.</p><p>After several minutes of walking Hanna stopped outside a door and took a heavy ring of keys from her belt, unlocking it before gesturing them inside. The ‘guest suite’ turned out to be a sparsely-decorated chamber with two small bedrooms leading off it. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust, and when Hanna kindled the lamps Tanith could see lighter patches on the walls and floor where tapestries and furniture must have once been.</p><p>“It’s not much, I’m afraid,” Hanna said, hovering in the doorway. “A relic from our predecessors.”</p><p>“It’s perfect,” Tanith said, fighting back a sneeze as she breathed in a lungful of dust. “Better than the barracks, I’m sure.”</p><p>“Of course.” The seneschal gave a tight smile. “If you need anything, my office is nearby. Turn left twice, knock on the door with the brass handle.”</p><p>“Thank you for the hospitality,” Blackwall said.</p><p>“It’s the least we can do, brother,” Hanna said. “I will call for you as soon as the Warden-Commander is available. I do not expect it will be soon, however.”</p><p>“We can wait,” Tanith said. “I’m sure she’s a very busy woman.”</p><p>Something flickered across the seneschal’s impassive face. Anger? Amusement? “She is indeed. Take care.” With that Hanna turned to leave, closing the door behind her.</p><p>Tanith waited until she was certain the woman was gone before turning around to look at Blackwall.</p><p>“This place is fucking creepy,” she said.</p><p>“Couldn’t have put it better myself.”</p><p>“Maker, we’re going to be murdered in our sleep, aren’t we?” Tanith laughed, though it came out more strangled than she had intended.</p><p>“Let’s hope not,” he said. “If I wasn’t sure there was something going on before…” Blackwall shook his head, his expression grim.</p><p>“Did you see the bandages?” Tanith gestured to her own forearm.</p><p>“I did,” he said, dropping his voice. “Harrin said something about Tabris wanting people for their blood.”</p><p>Tanith felt her muscles go tense. “You think she’s using blood magic?”</p><p>“She’s no mage, as far as I know.”</p><p>“No, but she’ll have mages here. That Hanna’s one, I’m sure of it. The human on the door, too.”</p><p>“Well that’s a comforting thought,” Blackwall said flatly.</p><p>“So what do we do?” There was a low couch in the middle of the sitting room and Tanith threw herself down on it, wincing as her back met hard stone. “<em>Ow. </em> We can’t just sit here and wait for her, can we?”</p><p>“I can’t see what else we can do,” he shrugged. “If we start snooping around now they’ll know we’re looking for something. I’m sure the seneschal suspects it already.”</p><p>“And whose fault is that? ‘They’re valuable texts and need to be transported safely’.” Tanith looked at him incredulously. “Is this your first time being a spy, by any chance?”</p><p>“Yes it is,” Blackwall said, obviously irritated. “Did I miss the part where you were a practicing bard?”</p><p>“Look, just <em> think </em>for a second,” she said. “Scary silent bandage Wardens aren’t going to say a word to us. That’s obvious. Who else might know something?”</p><p>He shrugged. “Margot said some of the deshyrs took issue with Tabris being here.”</p><p>“The what now?”</p><p>“Deshyrs. Dwarven lords.”</p><p>Tanith waved her hand dismissively. “They won’t say much to commoners, Grey Wardens or not. But the other dwarves might. You saw the way they looked at us when we walked in. They know something.”</p><p>“What, so I just walk into the market square and start asking people if the Warden-Commander’s a blood mage?”</p><p>“<em>You </em> don’t say anything. You’re shit at this. Let me do the talking. And take your armour off.”</p><p>Blackwall looked slightly alarmed by this. “What?”</p><p>Tanith sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Maker’s blood, they won’t tell us anything if we look like Wardens, will they?”</p><p>“Oh. Of course.” He looked uncomfortable, his cheeks colouring slightly.</p><p>“Trust me.” Tanith unbuckled her tabard and pulled it off over her head. “If there’s one thing I know it’s how to gossip. Let’s go get a drink.”</p><p>They managed to slip out of the estate without drawing much attention, and made their way through the Diamond Quarter and back to the commons below. They still drew a few looks from passersby but they were simply curious now, not hostile. Just dwarves wondering what an elf and a human were doing walking through their city.</p><p>Tanith wandered the plaza for a while, eyeing up the numerous taverns and taphouses that Orzammar had to offer. She wanted rough, but not too rough, the kind of place where people went to drink after finishing work for the night. It didn’t matter where you were, there was no one more talkative than a person in their cups after a hard day’s labour. She found a place that fit the bill and made her way inside, a wall of sound hitting her the moment she opened the door. The tavern was crowded, full of dwarves with soot-blackened hands and tools strapped to their belts, packed into booths and around low tables. Someone was singing in a corner, and several women were circulating with trays full of drinks. It was perfect.</p><p>They managed to find an empty table at the back of the room, wedged in between two groups of half-cut dwarves. Tanith caught the eye of one of the serving women and she bustled over, smiling warmly at them as she wove through the tables.</p><p>“Surfacers!” she said. “Don’t get many of your sort here these days. First time in Orzammar?”</p><p>“It is.” Tanith made her expression bright and open, playing the part of the wide-eyed traveller. “We go all over, but we’ve never come down here before. Couldn’t believe it when the boss told us the job.”</p><p>“I’m sure it’s something the first time you see it,” the serving woman laughed. “Welcome, anyway. I’m Corra. You merchants?”</p><p>“Merchant’s <em> assistants</em>,” Tanith said, giving a little shrug. “We find the stock, he gets the profit. Go figure.”</p><p>The dwarf gave them a sympathetic look. “Tell you what. Let me get the two of you something special, since you’re new in the city.”</p><p>Corra bustled away, expertly sidestepping patrons as she walked back to the bar. A moment later she returned with two large tankards, brimming with something black that smelled vaguely of dirt.</p><p>“Orzammar’s finest,” she said, nodding encouragingly. “Go on, give it a try.”</p><p>Tanith eyed the liquid sceptically. The last time she had been made to drink a mysterious black liquid she ended up a Grey Warden. She glanced at Blackwall, who was looking dubiously at his own tankard, then raised hers to his.</p><p>They both took a sip, and a moment later exploded into fits of coughing. Whatever the dwarf had given them was <em> vile</em>, somewhere between wood alcohol and mulch. Tanith gagged a little as she wiped her mouth dry, pleased to see that Blackwall was in much the same state. Several dwarves on nearby tables laughed, some applauding or banging their cups in approval. Well, that was something. At least their embarrassment had put them in the patrons’ good graces.</p><p>“Dwarven ale,” Corra said. “Can’t beat it. Do you want something a little softer to wash that down with?”</p><p>Tanith shook her head, smiling queasily. “No. I’m sure we’ll get used to it.”</p><p>“That’s what I like to hear. Can I do anything else for you?”</p><p>“I’ve a few questions, if you’ve a minute?”</p><p>The dwarf glanced back over to the bar and shrugged. “Sure. I can spare a minute.”</p><p>“What’s good to do around here?” Tanith asked. “We’re going to be in Orzammar a week or so. Want to make sure we see <em> everything </em> before the boss calls us back up.”</p><p>“Oh, well, you <em> have </em> to go to the Provings,” Corra said. “Did you see that great long bridge when you came in?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“Well the building on the other side is the Proving ground. There’s matches every day, so you’ve got plenty of time to catch one.”</p><p>“We’ll be sure to do that, won’t we?” She nudged Blackwall under the table and he nodded along with her.</p><p>“Hmm.” Corra tapped her finger against her chin. “What else...”</p><p>“What about the Grey Wardens?” Tanith asked. “They’ve got a fortress down here right? Maker, I’d love to see that.”</p><p>As she had anticipated, the room around them fell quiet. There was a notable change in the atmosphere, the merry mood gone suddenly grim. Tanith had guessed right. The people here <em> did </em>know something.</p><p>“I wouldn’t recommend that, dear,” Corra said gently. “The Wardens here aren’t… they don’t take kindly to visitors.”</p><p>“You can say that again,” a man on the next table scoffed. “Strutting around like it’s their sodding city.”</p><p>“Bevin.” Corra’s voice held a warning. “I don’t think our visitors need to hear—”</p><p>“And why don’t they?” Bevin said, slamming his mug down on the table. “I’m sick of it, Corra, we all are.”</p><p>Tanith widened her eyes, the picture of innocent curiosity. “I thought the Grey Wardens were heroes.”</p><p>“Maybe on the surface,” Bevin said. “Down here they’re a sodding menace.”</p><p>“Why’s that?” Blackwall asked.</p><p>“Do you folks know what the Deep Roads are?” Corra said, cutting in before Bevin could respond.</p><p>“Of course,” Tanith said. “That’s where the darkspawn are, right?”</p><p>“Yes.” Corra spoke quietly. “There’s a door to the roads in the city. Used to be they’d open it, what, four, five times a year?”</p><p>“If that,” Bevin interjected. “For warrior caste, or Legion. For <em> our </em>people. Back then the Wardens went with them, if they had to go. Not the other way around.”</p><p>“Opening the gate draws the darkspawn closer to Orzammar,” Corra explained. “So it’s safer not to do it too often. But ever since Tabris came down here she’s been going down there more and more. Not waiting for expeditions either, just whenever she feels like it.”</p><p>“Can she do that?” Tanith asked, her curiosity genuine this time.</p><p>“Well, the Grey Warden treaties—”</p><p>“Piss on the Grey Warden treaties,” Bevin snapped. “King Harrowmont should take those treaties and tear them to pieces. Just because Tabris put him on the throne—”</p><p>“Bevin.” Corra’s voice was sharp. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”</p><p>He spat on the floor. “Someone has to. My cousin’s warrior caste. Said last time they went down to the Roads the corruption was a <em> mile </em> closer to the city. A <em> mile</em>, in less than a year. That Warden bitch is going to get the lot of us killed, and we’re all sitting back and letting it happen.”</p><p>“I had no idea,” Tanith said quietly. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You weren’t to know.” Corra smiled at her. “But I’d keep well away from the Wardens, if I were you. They’re nothing but trouble. Anyway, can I get you folks something to eat?”</p><p>“That would be great. Thank you.”</p><p>Corra left to fetch their food, and not long after Bevin slunk out of the taproom. When she was certain no one was paying attention to them any more, Tanith turned to Blackwall.</p><p>“See?” she said. “Told you they’d know something.”</p><p>“Well, you were right about that,” he said, looking a little dazed. “Maker. No wonder the deshyrs want Tabris out. I’m surprised it’s not come to civil war, if she’s drawing the darkspawn this close to Orzammar.”</p><p>“Why would she <em> do </em>that, though?” Tanith asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s not her intention,” he said. “Maybe there’s a reason she’s going into the Deep Roads so often, and the corruption’s just a side effect.”</p><p>“Pretty terrible side effect. Would have to be a pretty fantastic reason.”</p><p>Corra came back with their food then, a bowls of stew with some unidentifiable meat floating in it and several roasted tubers that tasted a little like sweet potato. The Wardens ate in silence for a while, hungry after a long day with no sustenance. Tanith sipped at her ale, finding the second taste more palatable than the first, and the third almost pleasant. The stuff must have been strong, for she felt a little giddy before the tankard was a third empty.</p><p>When they had finished eating Corra came to clear their plates, stacking them expertly on one hand and then wiping the table clean with a rag.</p><p>“I meant to ask,” she said. “What kind of stock is your boss looking for? There’s plenty of merchants who drink in here, I’m sure one of them has what you need.”</p><p>“Gewgaws,” Tanith said, rolling her eyes. “He’s got a shop in Val Royeaux, hawks useless trinkets to nobles with more money than sense. Know anyone who sells anything like that?”</p><p>“Plenty,” Corra said as she walked away. “I’ll ask around for you.”</p><p>When she was out of earshot Blackwall turned to look at Tanith. “I have to hand it to you,” he said. “You <em> are </em>a good liar.”</p><p>She gave a small seated bow. “I try my best.”</p><p>“You’ve got a tell though.”</p><p>“What?” she said. “No I don’t.”</p><p>“You do,” he said, grinning into his tankard. “Your ears twitch when you lie.”</p><p>“They do not—” Tanith felt it happening the moment the words left her mouth, and she clamped her hands hard over her ears. “Shut up.”</p><p>Blackwall chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it to myself.”</p><p>“Anyway, I’d rather have my ears than yours,” Tanith said, lowering her hands. “At least mine aren’t so… quiet.”</p><p>“Quiet?” he frowned. “I never thought of your ears as particularly noisy.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.” There was a small puddle of ale on the tabletop, and Tanith drew patterns in it with a fingertip as she spoke. “They don’t <em> say </em> anything. With elves, I know what they mean when they’re talking to me. I can tell how they’re feeling, I can tell if they’re lying. With humans there’s just… nothing.”</p><p>“Not nothing, surely,” he said, frowning. “There’s other ways of telling what people mean. It’s in their tone, their body language.”</p><p>Tanith shook her head. “It’s not the same.” She gave voice to something she had been thinking about for a while now. “I don’t know how Hywel does it.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Being with Clement,” she said. “I don’t know how you can care about someone like that and never know what they mean when they talk to you. They could lie to your face so easily.”</p><p>“Well,” Blackwall said slowly. “I suppose you’d just have to trust that what they were saying to you was sincere.”</p><p>“Trust,” Tanith said, smiling to herself. “That’s such an odd concept, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Why so?”</p><p>“Because you’re just saying to someone ‘here, do whatever you like, and if I get hurt that’s my fault for being so gullible’. Makes no sense to me.”</p><p>Blackwall looked at her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable.</p><p>“See?” she said. “You’re doing it right now. The quiet-ears thing.”</p><p>“There’s not a lot I can do about that, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“Sure there is.” Tanith kicked him lightly under the table. “You can stop staring at me and drink your drink.”</p><p>They stayed at the tavern for an hour or so longer, slowly draining their tankards and talking about nothing of importance. By the time the ale was half-finished Tanith was giggling to herself. When she finally knocked back the last drop she was well and truly drunk.</p><p>“Look, look, look,” she said, making an expansive gesture with her hand. “All I’m saying is, when do you sleep?”</p><p>“What?” Blackwall laughed. He was swaying where he sat, his face a little flushed.</p><p>“Think about it,” she said. “What time is it now, do you think, up there?” Tanith pointed at the ceiling.</p><p>He frowned, obviously giving the question serious thought, his expression so stern that it set Tanith off giggling again.</p><p>“What time did we get here?” he asked slowly.</p><p>“I don’t know. Noon?”</p><p>“Right.” He was silent for half a minute. “Haven’t got a fucking clue.”</p><p>“Me neither!” Tanith said, a little too loudly. “So <em> when do you sleep</em>?” She turned around to the bar. “Hey, Corra! Corra! C’mere!”</p><p>The serving woman came over to their table, looking more than a little amused. “How can I help?”</p><p>“Corra, when do you sleep?” Tanith asked. “I mean, there’s no day or night or anything down here. How do you know when to sleep?”</p><p>“I just sleep when I’m tired.”</p><p>Tanith blinked at her. “That’s amazing.”</p><p>Corra laughed, shaking her head. “I’m going to say that you two probably need to go to sleep sometime very soon.”</p><p>“How much do we owe you?” Blackwall tried to open his coin purse and promptly sent coppers scattering all over the table.</p><p>Corra picked up several coins and put them in the pocket of her apron. “That should cover it. Stay safe, you two. Try not to fall in the lava.”</p><p>By some miracle Tanith and Blackwall managed to stagger back to the Warden estate without incident. They took a moment to compose themselves before walking in, the guards admitting them with little more than a nod. Once inside Tanith tried to emulate the stern bearing of the Wardens who lived there, but ended up fighting back a fit of giggles every time she passed one of them in the corridor.</p><p>It took them the longest time to find their way to the guest suite, and as soon as she was through the door Tanith collapsed with laughter.</p><p>“What is <em> wrong </em> with them?” she said. “Maybe we just need to get them drunk. Shit, maybe we should get <em> Tabris </em> drunk.”</p><p>Blackwall shrugged. “Not like we’ve got a better plan.”</p><p>“True.” Tanith wiped her eyes. “Shit. What are we even doing here?”</p><p>“Maker, who knows,” he said. “Fucking stupid idea. I’m sorry you got dragged along.”</p><p>“Hey, it’s fine.” She walked over to him, wobbling a little on her feet. “I’m a Grey Warden now, right? I drank darkspawn blood. Why not go to an underground city and get killed by blood mages? All in a day’s work.”</p><p>He laughed. “You’ll go far with that attitude.”</p><p>“If only old Margot could see me now, right? I’m being very professional.”</p><p>“You’re drunk.”</p><p>“We’re <em> both </em>drunk,” she pointed out.</p><p>“True enough.”</p><p>“Still,” Tanith smiled. “It’s nice to see you loosen up a little.”</p><p>He looked down at her, his eyes a little tired. They really were the most incredible shade of grey, she thought. Like the sky before a storm.</p><p>“Have I been so awful as that?” he asked.</p><p>Tanith shook her head. “No. You’re alright, you know. For a shem.” She jabbed her finger hard into his chest to emphasise the point. “You’re okay.”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it.”</p><p>“Even if your ears are stupid.” Tanith rocked up onto her tiptoes and planted a clumsy kiss on his cheek. “Anyway. I’m going to sleep. Don’t care what time it is.”</p><p>She turned around and walked towards one of the bedrooms, almost tripping over a low table on her way. Once inside Tanith attempted to pull her boots off but, finding this an impossibly challenging task, fell into bed with one still on. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Bodies So Maimed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blackwall's head had been cleaved in two. He fought to think through the pain, trying to recall how he had been injured, what battle had caused it, before remembering that it had been nothing of the sort. Only that vile brew they had been given at the tavern, the one that smelled like death and tasted worse. One tankard he had drank, that was all, and still it felt like he had been poisoned.</p><p>He sat up in bed and regretted it instantly, the room spinning violently around him as he moved. Maker, what had been <em> in </em>that stuff? His mouth was dry as dust, his stomach sour, and there was a pounding at his temples that made his eyes water. It took Blackwall a long moment to realise the latter was not only in his head, and that someone was knocking hard on the door of the suite. He laid down again, hoping that whoever was there would give up and leave, but they merely redoubled their efforts. Swallowing back a sudden wave of nausea, Blackwall dragged himself to his feet and went to see who was so intent on disturbing him.</p><p>Hanna smiled when he opened the door, the expression as cool as it had been the previous day. “I have good news,” she said. “The Warden-Commander has agreed to a meeting.”</p><p>“Oh. Good.” He blinked hard against the light spilling in from the corridor, the dim lamps almost painful to his eyes.</p><p>“Be outside the audience chamber in an hour,” she said. “I counsel punctuality. Commander Tabris has a great deal of business to attend to.”</p><p>“Of course.” The nausea rose again, tightening his throat.</p><p>“I will see you there, then,” Hanna said. “Take care, brother.”</p><p>Blackwall closed the door behind her, then leaned his head against it. “Shit.”</p><p>So this was it, then. His first meeting with Warden-Commander Tabris, the most dreaded figure in the order’s history, and he would be going into it with the worst hangover of his life. Blackwall staggered over to Tanith’s door and knocked hard.</p><p>“Tanith,” he called. “Get up.”</p><p>A low, wordless groan from inside the room. He knocked again.</p><p>“We’ve got to go. Come on.” Even the sound of his own voice made his skull feel like it was splitting open.</p><p>He heard a quiet rustle of movement from inside, and a moment later the door swung back to reveal an empty room. Blackwall looked down and saw Tanith sitting on the floor, her face buried in her hands.</p><p>“I’m dying,” she said. “I’m dead. I’ve died.”</p><p>“You and me both,” he said. “But you need to get up. We’ve got a meeting with Tabris in an hour.”</p><p>Tanith looked up at him, an expression of pure horror on her face. Her curls were in wild disarray, and there was an almost greenish tinge to her tawny skin. “No,” she said. “No, we haven’t.”</p><p>“Yes, we have.” Lacking the strength to stand, he leaned up against the doorway. “Come on. Get up.”</p><p>She let out a low wail and slumped back onto the floor. “I can’t.”</p><p>“Tanith—”</p><p>“This is worse than the Joining,” she said. “I’d drink a pint of darkspawn blood right now if it could make me not feel like this.”</p><p>“Ask Tabris,” Blackwall said. “I’m sure she’ll have some lying around.”</p><p>“Oh, Maker.” Tanith closed her eyes. “I’m going to throw up on the Hero of Ferelden, aren’t I?”</p><p>“Doesn’t sound unlikely.”</p><p>“Well, we had a good run,” she said. “Fine. Shut the door, I’ll get up.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Blackwall closed the door and returned to his own room, doing his best to make himself look semi-presentable. Even the simple task of buckling on his armour left him sweating, and he was unsure how he would manage to survive the short walk to the audience chamber. Someone had left a ewer of water on the dresser while they had been away at the tavern. He drank half of it straight from the jug, the tepid liquid like nectar to his parched throat.</p><p>While he waited for Tanith to finish getting dressed Blackwall sorted through the books and scrolls the Warden-Commander had requested. They were old texts, for the most part, the parchment thin and brittle to the touch. Two of them bore the symbol of the Chantry, one was the diary of a former Warden-Commander, others were written in blocky dwarven runes that he could not make head nor tail of. There seemed to be no consistency to the materials she had requested, no overarching theme that could give an insight to her purpose. He packed them safely back into the satchel and rose to knock on Tanith’s door again.</p><p>“I swear, if you’ve gone back to sleep—”</p><p>She yanked the door open, scowling up at him. Her armour was on at least, if a little askew. “Calm down,” she said. “Unfortunately I am very much awake.”</p><p>“Good,” he said. “We’ve a little time before the meeting. Are you hungry?”</p><p>Tanith covered her mouth with a hand. “Maker, no.”</p><p>“Me neither.”</p><p>“We could take a nap?” she said.</p><p>“We are not sleeping through a meeting with the Warden-Commander.”</p><p>“Just a little one?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Fine.” She walked over to the couch and laid down on it, fidgeting restlessly as she tried to find a comfortable position on the hard stone. Blackwall suddenly recalled the soft brush of her lips against his skin, the memory so hazy that he could not be certain whether it had been a dream. He felt the back of his neck grow hot as he looked at her, wondering if she too had forgotten the events of the previous night.</p><p>“You’re staring at me,” Tanith said.</p><p>“Your eyes are closed.”</p><p>“I can still tell. I know I look like ten kinds of shit right now but you’re not much better.”</p><p>Blackwall went to sit down on the end of the couch, nudging her feet out of the way. She whined in protest, then rested her boots in his lap.</p><p>“What do we <em> say </em>to her?” she asked. “‘Hello, here’s some books, are you doing blood magic by the way?’”</p><p>“I haven’t got the faintest idea,” he said. “I suppose we just have to get the lay of the land first. See if she’s really as cracked as they say.”</p><p>“And if she is?”</p><p>He sighed. “Are you the praying sort?”</p><p>“No. Are you?”</p><p>“Only when there’s nothing else left to try.”</p><p>“Then we’ll have to come up with some more options, won’t we?”</p><p>Tanith crossed her knees at the ankle, the motion pressing the slope of her calf against his leg. Blackwall swallowed, cleared his throat.</p><p>“We should get moving,” he said. “The Maker himself won’t be able to save us if we’re late.”</p><p>They left the suite and made their way through the winding passages of the estate, trying to recall how to find the room with the tree carving on the door. Blackwall’s head was still thumping, though less viciously now, and the sick feeling in his stomach had abated somewhat. Though his hangover was fading, the trepidation he felt over meeting the Warden-Commander grew with every step he took. They were in her territory now, her domain, and while they might be his brothers-in-arms Blackwall was under no allusions as to where the Orzammar Wardens’ loyalties lay. There was no doubt in his mind that Tabris could dispose of them on a whim if she felt like it. He remembered Harrin’s face, the mask of terror it had contorted into when speaking her name. The old archer had been fighting darkspawn all his life, had faced horrors most people couldn’t dream of. What kind of monster would send a man like that running for his life?</p><p>Hanna was waiting outside the audience chamber when they arrived, her hands folded neatly in front of her.</p><p>“You’re early,” she said, no hint of approval in her voice. “Thank you for arriving swiftly. The Warden-Commander does not have a great deal of time to spare.”</p><p>“We appreciate her agreeing to see us so soon,” Blackwall said, though in truth he would have preferred a day or two to sleep off the ale.</p><p>Hanna gave the slightest of nods, then turned and opened the door.</p><p>The room beyond was huge, a great high-ceilinged chamber carved out of the stone. Torches lined the walls, their light barely holding back the shadows, the echo of footsteps seeming impossibly loud. There must have been space for a hundred people to gather here, back when it was a noble estate. The emptiness of it now was unsettling. Blackwall wondered why Tabris would choose to receive visitors in such a place.</p><p>Then he saw the skull.</p><p>Blackwall had seen dragons before, circling slowly around the Gamordan Peaks and flying through the open sky above the Dales. They were vast, like something out of legend, the very sight of them striking both fear and awe into his heart. The skull mounted on the back wall of the chamber belonged to a creature at least four times the size of any dragon. It leered from the shadows with teeth as long and sharp as swords, the horns that sprouted from its head twisting into sharp points near the ceiling. Cracks webbed the surface of the bone, evidence of old injuries. Behind the hollow sockets of its eyes a fire burned, sending long shadows dancing around the chamber. This uncanny light illuminated the throne below the skull, and the woman who sat upon it.</p><p>Warden-Commander Tabris wore a set of heavy plate engraved with a rearing griffon, the flames reflecting off the polished metal. She was facing to her left as Hanna led the visitors forward, speaking to the dwarf who had barred their entry the previous day. Oghren eyed the new arrivals with distaste, then stepped back to take his place at the side of the throne.</p><p>When Tabris turned towards them Blackwall had to bite back a gasp of revulsion. The left side of the Warden-Commander’s face was a wreck, a mess of scar tissue that told of deep lacerations badly healed. The cartilage in her ear was broken, leaving it hanging uselessly at the side of her face, and one eye was milky with cataracts. Her red hair was lank against her skull, her pale skin sallow, an old cut at the corner of her mouth giving the impression of a permanent grimace. She looked like a subterranean thing, a creature that had evolved without sunlight. She looked, Blackwall realised with a shudder, like a darkspawn.</p><p>“Warden-Commander Tabris,” Hanna said as she approached the throne. “Presenting Wardens Blackwall and Tanith, of Fort Astor in Orlais.”</p><p>“Grey Wardens from Orlais.” The Commander’s voice was surprisingly light, almost girlish. “What an unexpected surprise.”</p><p>Hanna nodded to Blackwall, indicating that he should speak. The archdemon’s skull loomed over him as he stepped forward, its empty eyes blazing.</p><p>“Warden-Constable Perchet sends her regards,” he said. “Along with the materials you requested from the archives at Fort Astor.”</p><p>Blackwall took the satchel from his shoulder and held it out uselessly. Not taking her eyes off him, Tabris made a small gesture and Hanna stepped forward to take the bag from his hands. He took the opportunity to glance over at Tanith. Her expression was controlled, but he saw the way her ears lay anxiously flat against her head.</p><p>“I’ve been asking Perchet for those texts for half a decade,” Tabris said. “Why has she taken it upon herself to send them now?”</p><p>He steadied himself, taking a breath before replying. “They are valuable to her, as you know. She apologises for the delay.”</p><p>“How appropriate.” Tabris spoke more loudly this time, an edge of steel to her voice. “The Orlesian Grey Wardens have long specialised in delays. I recall when their forces were so <em> delayed </em>that they missed the Blight entirely.”</p><p>“That is something that the Warden-Constable regrets deeply,” Blackwall said with conviction. It was the truth, Margot having told him as much on many occasions. “If Ferelden had not closed its borders—”</p><p>“What do the Grey Wardens care for borders?” Tabris said, a look of pure disgust on her ruined face. “Since when have we sworn allegiance to petty nations?”</p><p>Blackwall did not know how to respond to that. His head was foggy with drink and fear and the heat of the room, and he could not form his thoughts in time.</p><p>“I raised armies to end the Blight,” she said. “I killed demons and crowned kings and treated with spirits. I found Andraste’s temple and put Ferelden’s greatest hero to the sword. You would come to me and speak of <em> borders</em>?” Tabris snarled the last word, spittle flying from her mouth as she bared her teeth.</p><p>There was a sound coming from somewhere in the room, a low, discordant scraping. Blackwall looked around for its source, and saw how Tabris scratched at the arms of the throne with the spiked fingers of her gauntlets. Deep gouges in the rock suggested years of such treatment. The Warden-Commander was breathing hard, her shoulders shaking as she glared down from her dais. Oghren stepped towards her, said something too quiet for Blackwall to hear. After a moment Tabris stilled a little. She placed a hand on the dwarf’s arm, signalling him to return to his post.</p><p>“Warden-Commander,” Blackwall said, desperately trying to think of something that might placate her. “We weren’t members of the order during the Blight. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to live through.</p><p>“No,” she said quietly. “You can’t. How long have you been with the Wardens, then?”</p><p>“Five years.”</p><p>Tabris nodded, then turned to Tanith. “And you?”</p><p>She straightened her back before speaking. “Only a few months.”</p><p>“And how many darkspawn have you encountered?”</p><p>Tanith gave a small shrug. “Five or six?”</p><p>“I see.” Tabris tilted her head to one side, a strangely raptorlike gesture. “What have you been doing then, for all these months as a Warden?”</p><p>Blackwall saw Tanith wet her lips with her tongue. “Training,” she said. “Learning the order’s history.”</p><p>“And what do you know of our history, then?”</p><p>“Not a lot,” Tanith admitted. “Our archivist has me reading about the Blights, and the Wardens who ended them.”</p><p>Tabris nodded slowly. “No one knows who put an end to Silence,” she said. “Corin slayed Chaos, Fire was nameless again, Garahel brought death to Slaves.” She reached up and touched the great jaw of the skull behind her, a caress almost reverent in its delicacy. Her eyes were wide and far away. “In the Fifth Blight we killed Beauty. Only Night and Mystery remain. That is all the history you need to know.”</p><p>Tanith looked over to Blackwall, her brow furrowing. If she was looking for confirmation of what Tabris was saying, he could not provide it. To him her words sounded like the ravings of a madwoman and nothing more.</p><p>The Warden-Commander shook her head as if to clear it, the trance-like expression on her face falling away. She turned her attention back to Tanith, blinking slowly.</p><p>“So,” she said. “Training and learning. What else?”</p><p>“I’ve done some recruitment?” Tanith said, clearly at a loss.</p><p>“Recruitment. Your role, I assume?” Tabris turned her undamaged eye to Blackwall.</p><p>“Yes,” he said.</p><p>“How many recruits do you bring in a year?”</p><p>He thought about this for a moment. “Forty, perhaps.”</p><p>“And how many of those survive their Joining?”</p><p>“Over half,” he said. “Maybe thirty.”</p><p>Tabris nodded slowly, as if she were considering this. “Thirty Wardens a year, each facing down—” she turned to Tanith “—five or six darkspawn. My, my. The horde must be quaking in the trenches.” Her high voice dripped with malice.</p><p>“We have soldiers at Fort Astor too, Commander,” Blackwall said, trying not to sound defensive. “They kill plenty of the creatures.”</p><p>Tabris seemed unmoved by this. She turned towards Tanith again, her right ear swivelling in the other elf’s direction. “You. Why did you join the order?”</p><p>“I was conscripted,” Tanith said.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I killed a chevalier.”</p><p>A slow smile spread across the Warden-Commander’s face, the long scar at the corner of her mouth turning the expression into something monstrous. “I killed the Arl of Denerim’s son,” she said. “Gutted him like a pig. Did yours squeal, when he died? Did he beg?”</p><p>Tanith swallowed. “He didn’t have a chance to.”</p><p>“Good.” There was a long moment of silence before Tabris spoke again. “How long do you intend to remain here?”</p><p>Blackwall spoke up. “The Warden-Constable asked us—”</p><p>“I was not speaking to you!” Tabris snapped at him. There was hatred in the curl of her lip, the creases on her forehead.</p><p>“Apologies, Commander,” he said, taking a step back from the dais.</p><p>She turned back to Tanith. “Answer.”</p><p>Tanith opened her mouth, glanced at Blackwall, then looked back up to Tabris. “We can’t leave the materials with you,” she said slowly. “Our archivist needs them back. But we can stay here while you study them, and return them to Fort Astor once you’re finished.”</p><p>“I have never known a book to require an armed escort,” Tabris said. “What a proud task for a Grey Warden.”</p><p>She was still looking at Tanith, and Blackwall did not dare to interject again. Tanith chewed on her lip, clearly unsure what she was supposed to say. He never should have brought her here. Never should have allowed Perchet to use her in these machinations.</p><p>“You asked for them,” Tanith said suddenly, frowning up at the dais. “We’ve brought you what you need. I don’t see why you’re taking issue with it.”</p><p>Blackwall could have sworn that his heart stopped beating for a moment. He looked up at Tabris, waiting for her to explode again, but instead the Warden-Commander simply stared at Tanith. Then she leaned back in her throne and nodded once.</p><p>“True enough,” she said. “Go, then. I will call on you if you are needed.” She raised a hand, indicating for Hanna to show them out.</p><p>The seneschal gestured for them to follow her from the audience chamber. As soon as they were through the door she closed it behind them, letting out the tiniest of breaths.</p><p>“You should count yourself lucky that she spoke to you at all,” Hanna said. “It is not a privilege bestowed upon many. Good day.” Then she turned and walked back in the direction of her office, her shoulders stiff with tension.</p><p>Blackwall and Tanith didn’t speak a word to each other the whole way back to their rooms. As they made their way through the corridors Blackwall turned over what had just happened, wondering if there was anything he could have said or done to make the Warden-Commander less hostile. He concluded that there likely wasn’t, and that she would have responded the same to them regardless of their approach. It was clear that Tabris held a grudge against the surface Wardens that ran deep, and against the Wardens of Orlais in particular. What would it do to a person, fighting against a Blight alone, waiting for reinforcements that never came? Well, that question had been asked and answered. It was plain what the experience had done to Tabris.</p><p>Once they were back inside the suite Tanith paced a slow circle of the sitting room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Blackwall recognised the expression on her face from that night they had spent in the cave. It was a look of total emptiness, utter resignation.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he asked.</p><p>Tanith shook her head slowly. “<em>That’s </em> the Hero of Ferelden?”</p><p>“Apparently so,” Blackwall said. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. She’s…” He paused, searching for the words.</p><p>“Insane?” Tanith said.</p><p>“Yes,” he sighed. “Seems that way, doesn’t it?”</p><p>She was quiet for a long moment before speaking. “I remember when we first heard about her. Must have been a month or two after the end of the Blight. News travels slowly to the alienage.” Tanith sat down on the couch, drawing a knee up to her chest. “At first it was just rumours, you know, idle talk. But then we started hearing it more often. An elf had ended the Blight, been named a hero.”</p><p>“It must be difficult,” Blackwall said quietly. “Seeing her like this.”</p><p>“You can’t really understand.” Tanith looked up at him, her eyes gentle but firm. “Every time someone wins a battle or gains a title or anything, anything at all, it’s always one of you. Never one of us. Can you imagine what it was like in the alienage, knowing one of our own had that kind of power?”</p><p>“I won’t pretend I can, no.”</p><p>“It was like…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “We really believed that things could be different. That if she could change the world, so could we.”</p><p>“I didn’t know she meant so much to you.”</p><p>“It wasn’t her, exactly,” Tanith said. “We weren’t all lining up to join the Wardens or anything. It was what she’d done, what had been possible for her. Everyone got it into their heads that they could make things better too. For a while, anyway.”</p><p>Blackwall shifted on his feet. “I take it that didn’t last, then?”</p><p>“No,” she said. “First elves who decided to try and ‘make things better’ got their skulls kicked in, and that was the end of that. But for a while there we had a kind of hope.” Tanith made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Because of <em> her</em>. What a great hero we got saddled with.”</p><p>“Whoever she is now,” Blackwall said. “Whatever she might be doing. The fact remains that she <em> did </em>end the Blight. She saved countless thousands of lives, Tanith. That’s not a poor figure to look up to.”</p><p>“Even if she’s using blood magic on the Wardens?” Tanith asked. “Even if she’s drawing darkspawn to the city?”</p><p>Blackwall didn’t know how to respond to that. Tanith was right; he couldn’t understand how this felt for her. She didn’t seem to be angry over their encounter with Tabris, or even particularly upset. She just looked tired. Like she had been kicked by the world so many times that one more barely made a difference.</p><p>“Fuck this.” Tanith stood up, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m going back to bed.” She walked into her room and closed the door behind her, the lock turning with a dull <em> click</em>.</p><p>Blackwall decided to do the same, their audience with the Warden-Commander having only compounded his headache. When he slept his dreams were strange things, almost like the nightmares brought by the taint but not quite. He still felt the press of the earth above him, still heard the hum of the darkspawn as they tunnelled, still smelled brimstone and burning flesh. But this time he saw her too, the wreckage of her face all in shadow, humming a song both beautiful and strange. Slowly she turned. Her movements were fitful, like a marionette with half its strings cut.</p><p>When she faced him she smiled, and her smile was a terrible thing.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Armour Of The Dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The estate’s dining hall was nothing like the mess at Fort Astor. The long communal room in the cliffside keep was always buzzing with talk, the air made fresh by the sea breeze that blew in through the window. It was a place where Tanith always felt welcome. But here, like everywhere else in the Orzammar compound, the atmosphere was silent and stifling. Hanna had told them where to find the dining hall, and had assured them that they could come and go as they pleased. The moment that she and Blackwall walked into the room Tanith was certain that she would much rather be going.</p><p>“Alright,” she said under her breath. “I guess we just… sit?”</p><p>“The sooner we eat the sooner we can leave,” Blackwall said.</p><p>“Good point.”</p><p>The dining hall was a square room of featureless stone, three long tables the only furniture. A dozen Wardens were already there, picking at plates of food, each sitting far away from their neighbour. Tanith and Blackwall found a seat in the furthest corner, where they would likely not be heard while speaking. There were plates and bowls of food in the middle of each table, none of it particularly appetising. Tanith helped herself to two hard flatbreads and some kind of porridge that smelled like sage, hoping that it tasted better than it looked. After one bite she discerned that this was not the case.</p><p>“So,” she said, pitching her voice so none of the other diners could hear. “What’s the plan now?”</p><p>Tanith had slept for a long time after their meeting with the Hero of Ferelden — she wanted to think ‘yesterday’, but lacking the presence of the sun it was impossible to say — and her initial devastation had faded to a small, quiet sadness. She had not expected their encounter with Tabris to have such a profound impact on her, but seeing her people’s hero so deranged had disturbed her deeply.</p><p>A menagerie had come through Montfort once, when Tanith was a child, and she had sneaked out of the alienage to see it. There were emaciated bears, mangy wolves, several halla missing horns and patches of fur. But the main attraction was a lion, touted as the proud symbol of the Empress herself. Yet there had been no pride in the creature, in the way it roared and lunged at the bars of its cage, claws tearing madly against its prison, eyes wild and muzzle stained with blood. Tabris had reminded her of that lion. A once-noble predator gone to madness, raging at the world around it.</p><p>Blackwall picked half-heartedly at his breakfast, then pushed it away. “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “We’ve a few options.”</p><p>“Go on.”</p><p>He counted off on his fingers. “We could take a look around the estate. Try and find something out for ourselves.”</p><p>“No way,” she shook her head. “It’s not like we can sneak about in the night. There is no night. The lamps are always on, there’s always someone wandering around. We’d get caught for sure.”</p><p>“Alright,” he said. “We could try and talk to some of the other Wardens.”</p><p>Tanith looked around at the dour, silent people dotted about the room, took in the almost mechanical way they lifted their food to their mouths. “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to work either. You got any other ideas?”</p><p>Blackwall shifted uncomfortably where he sat. “One,” he said. “But you won’t like it.”</p><p>“I didn’t like the others either,” she said. “I’m primed for disappointment. Try me.”</p><p>“I think you should speak to Tabris.” Blackwall’s words came out in a rush. “Alone.”</p><p>She gaped at him. “Are you joking?”</p><p>“I did tell you that you wouldn’t like it.”</p><p>“Let me get this straight.” Tanith spooned up another mouthful of porridge, grimacing at the taste before she swallowed. “Now that we’ve established that the Warden-Commander is mad as a barrel of frogs, you want me to cosy up to her?”</p><p>“Look,” he said. “I won’t ask it of you if you’re not comfortable. But I think you have a genuine chance of getting somewhere with her.”</p><p>“Why? Because we’re both elves, or because we’re both murderers?”</p><p>“Because of the way she talked to you,” Blackwall said. “You must have noticed it at the meeting. It was you she wanted to speak to, not me. It was you she showed interest in.”</p><p>“Okay, so she’s a lunatic with taste.”</p><p>Blackwall closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath, then opened them again. “I think we have better odds of finding out what’s going on here if we can get to her directly,” he said. “And I think you have a good chance at it. That’s all. This isn’t an order, Tanith.”</p><p>She thought about it as she chewed a corner of flatbread. He had a point. Tabris <em> had </em>paid more attention to her yesterday, even though she was the more junior Warden. Perhaps trying to speak to her in private wasn’t the worst idea in the world. The Warden-Commander was undeniably cracked, but Tanith didn’t think she would murder her for attempting conversation. A bold assumption, perhaps, but one that her gut said was accurate. Besides, it wasn’t like they had a better plan. The sooner they found out what was going on the sooner they could get out of the compound, get back to Fort Astor with its salt air and warm hearth and friendly faces. If there was anything she could do to speed up that process, Tanith was willing to try it.</p><p>“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”</p><p>“Really?” Blackwall looked genuinely surprised.</p><p>“Yes, really. They probably won’t let me see her anyway. But I’ll give it a shot.”</p><p>“Thank you,” he breathed. “You know I wouldn’t be asking you if I thought there was another way.”</p><p>“Why not? It’s my job, isn’t it?”</p><p>“No,” he said, a little more forcefully than she had expected. “No, it’s not. Your job was <em> meant </em>to be whatever Hywel decided you were best suited for. It was supposed to be something that was a fit for you. Not what the Warden-Constable felt was convenient.”</p><p>Tanith raised her eyebrows at him. “Is that a little rebellion I sense?”</p><p>Blackwall looked sheepish. “Sorry. I’m just tired. Can’t get any fucking sleep in this place.”</p><p>“No no,” she said, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. “It suits you. Say more.”</p><p>“I really shouldn’t talk that way about Margot,” he said. “She’s doing the best she can. I do believe that. I just wish you hadn’t been dragged into it.”</p><p>“You were the one who dragged me into the Grey Wardens in the first place, if I recall.”</p><p>“I suppose that’s true. I probably owe you an apology.”</p><p>She shook her head. “Save it. I’m sure you’ll piss me off plenty more times before this is all over.”</p><p>Once she had finished eating — or, more accurately, given up on eating — Tanith went to seek out Hanna. The seneschal seemed to be the person who was most likely to get her a meeting with Tabris, given the tenacity of the Commander’s bodyguard. After several wrong turns she managed to find Hanna’s office, and knocked quietly on the door before entering.</p><p>The seneschal looked up from her desk as Tanith walked in, smoothly closing the leather-bound book she had been writing in.</p><p>“How can I help you, sister?” Hanna’s voice was as cool and clear as spring water.</p><p>“I was hoping to speak to the Warden-Commander,” Tanith said.</p><p>“You have already spoken to the Warden-Commander.”</p><p>“Well I want to speak to her again. Privately.”</p><p>The seneschal gave her a hard look. “And what is so important that it demands a private audience?”</p><p>Tanith plastered on a smile. “If it wasn’t private I would tell you.”</p><p>For a moment they simply stared at each other in silent challenge. Then Hanna rose to her feet, smoothing back her short hair in a gesture that looked almost irritated.</p><p>“Very well,” she said. “I will ask. But the Warden-Commander does not like to be disturbed, and I imagine it unlikely that she will agree to see you.”</p><p>“Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?”</p><p>Tanith followed Hanna out of the office and through the estate. The door the seneschal led her to was not the vhenadahl-carved entrance to the audience chamber, but a smaller one in an unfamiliar part of the complex. Oghren was standing sentry outside, and he glowered at Tanith while Hanna went inside to speak to the Warden-Commander.</p><p>“Hi,” Tanith said. “Lovely weather we’re having.”</p><p>The dwarf grunted.</p><p>“Alright,” she said. “Not big on humour. Got it.”</p><p>They waited in tense silence for a few minutes. Tanith could hear voices from behind the door, and while she strained to make out what was being said the words were too muffled. A moment later Hanna emerged, her usually placid face twisted into a scowl.</p><p>“Warden-Commander Tabris will see you now,” she said curtly. Then she turned and stalked off down the hallway.</p><p>Oghren looked at Tanith. “You got any weapons on you?”</p><p>“Not apart from the magic,” she said. “And that’s kind of a package deal.”</p><p>“Just keep your hands to yourself,” he said, then pulled open the door to let her pass.</p><p>The room beyond was smaller than Tanith had expected, and reminded her a little of Odette’s library at Fort Astor. There were scroll racks and bookshelves lined up along the walls, every surface cluttered with niknaks and detritus. Tabris was standing over a desk in the centre of the room, poring over a map pinned to the wood, but she looked up as Tanith closed the door behind her. Up close Tanith could see the scars on the Warden-Commander’s face in excruciating detail. They were ugly wounds, the edges jagged and puffy where they had healed, covering the entirety of one cheek and extending down below the collar of her armour.</p><p>“Hanna said you wanted to see me,” Tabris said. Her voice was more muted than it had been in the audience chamber the previous day, almost weary.</p><p>“Yes,” Tanith said, suddenly nervous. She hadn’t expected to actually be granted a meeting, or at least not so swiftly. “If you’ve the time.”</p><p>Tabris gestured to a chair on the other side of the desk. She pulled up her own while Tanith sat down, staring expectantly at her with mismatched eyes.</p><p>“Well?” she said. “Speak.”</p><p>“I just wanted to talk,” Tanith said. An idiotic reply, but she hadn’t prepared anything better, and couldn’t think clearly with Tabris staring at her.</p><p>The Warden-Commander’s expression was still. “Why?”</p><p>“Because you’re the Hero of Ferelden,” Tanith shrugged. “You’re all anyone spoke about in the alienage after the Blight ended. Why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?”</p><p>Tabris sat motionless for what felt like aeons. She barely even blinked, just stared with such intensity that Tanith could feel herself beginning to sweat. Then, when it seemed as though she might never move again, the Warden-Commander leaned forward in her chair.</p><p>“Which alienage?” she said.</p><p>“Montfort.”</p><p>“What was it like there?”</p><p>“Shit,” Tanith said. “Same as any other alienage. It was purged the day before the Wardens conscripted me.”</p><p>Tabris frowned curiously, a childish expression that looked strange on her battle-scarred face. “Purged?”</p><p>“Yes,” Tanith said. “It’s been happening everywhere since Halamshiral.”</p><p>The Warden-Commander shook her head. “I don’t know of what you speak. What little news travels here from the surface I tend to avoid.”</p><p>Tanith fought to keep her expression neutral. The idea that Tabris, who had supposedly liberated her own alienage after the Blight, would be unaware of the purges… she couldn’t begin to fathom it. From the cold look in the Warden-Commander’s eye Tanith guessed that pressing the issue would not be fruitful, and so she tried another tack.</p><p>“My neighbour had a portrait of you,” she said. “A miniature. Saved for months to buy it. You were his hero, back then.”</p><p>“Back then,” Tabris repeated. “But not any more.”</p><p>“He died,” Tanith said. “Hit by a carriage, two years ago.”</p><p>The Warden-Commander lifted a gloved hand to her face, the gesture almost unconscious. “I imagine I looked quite different in that portrait.”</p><p>Tanith hesitated before speaking, unsure whether boldness would be welcomed. She decided to risk it. “What happened?” she asked, touching her own cheek.</p><p>“Shriek attack,” Tabris said matter-of-factly. “In the Dead Trenches. My healer chose an inopportune time to defect.”</p><p>“Shriek?”</p><p>In response Tabris stood and took a book down from one of the shelves. She flicked through a few pages then placed it on the desk, turning it to face Tanith. There was an etching on the yellowing paper that showed a thin, clawed creature with grossly elongated limbs and a row of wickedly pointed teeth.</p><p>“Is that a darkspawn?” Tanith asked.</p><p>Tabris nodded. “They’re the ones that come from us.”</p><p>“Grey Wardens?”</p><p>“Elves.”</p><p>“I don’t follow.”</p><p>“So your clever instructors at Fort Astor haven’t told you that part.” The Warden-Commander sat down again, steepling her fingers in front of her chest. “The darkspawn don’t always kill the people they encounter. Sometimes they capture the women. Drag them down to the trenches.”</p><p>There was something in her tone that made Tanith feel sick. It was calm, almost businesslike, a complete contrast to her barely-contained fury from the day before. Yet somehow this disturbed Tanith just as much. Tabris spoke of these horrors with no emotion whatsoever, as though she were reading a handbill from a grocers.</p><p>“Once they have the women underground, the darkspawn feed them,” Tabris continued.</p><p>“Feed them what?” Tanith asked, unsure if they wanted to know the answer.</p><p>“The dead. Fresh corpses, ghouls, their own bodies. Whatever it takes to get the corruption moving. In time, the women change. They sicken and grow and become like them. And then they breed.”</p><p>The Warden-Commander turned a few pages of the book on the table, stopping at an etching of a vast, bloated creature surrounded by tentacles. Tanith felt her stomach squeeze in revulsion.</p><p>“A broodmother can spawn fifteen, twenty darkspawn at once,” Tabris said. “There are scores of them in the Deep Roads. Maybe hundreds.”</p><p>Tanith attempted a calculation in her head, trying to work out how quickly the darkspawn must be multiplying. The result was not comforting. She had known the darkspawn were vast in number, that they filled the dead cities beneath the earth, but for some reason Tanith had assumed that their population was finite. That if the Wardens managed to kill enough they would simply die out.</p><p>“That’s awful,” was all she managed to say.</p><p>“If you are captured by the darkspawn you have exactly one duty.” Tabris fixed her with that half-dead stare again. “Cut your throat. Run your knife from ear to ear and do not stop until the life is pouring out of you. It is the only course of action worth taking. For a Grey Warden, doubly so.”</p><p>She closed the book and stood to return it to the shelf. While Tabris had her back turned Tanith let her eyes wander over the items on the desk, hoping for a distraction from the disturbing knowledge the Warden-Commander had just imparted. There were a number of little trinkets scattered across its surface, none that seemed especially valuable; a key too large for any door, a withered rose mounted behind glass, a quatrefoil medallion. Then her gaze landed on something that made her whole body go cold. It was a padded box, not dissimilar to the one Blackwall had used when preparing for her Joining at the quarry, though much bigger. Half of the vials inside were full, their contents not the pitch-black of darkspawn ichor but a bright, arterial red.</p><p>Tanith jumped as a gloved hand snapped the box shut. She looked up to see Tabris staring down at her, eyes lion-wild once more. The Warden-Commander was breathing hard through her teeth, the muscles in her neck standing out like knotted rope. Without thinking Tanith began drawing a little magic into herself, preparing for the attack that she was certain was about to come.</p><p>Then Tabris took a step back, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She curled her hand into a fist and beat it hard against her breastplate, once, twice, three times. The sharp sound of metal on metal filled the small chamber for a moment. Then the Warden-Commander let out a tremulous sigh, sinking back down into her seat. Her outburst was so sudden and so violent that Tanith lost hold of her magic, too shocked to keep a grip on the delicate force.</p><p>“There was a man in the Denerim alienage who killed rats.” Tabris spoke plainly and quietly, as if they had been having this conversation all along. “They got in the root cellars and the granaries and the storehouses. Every day he would get up and beat the rats to death with a club. Smashed their little skulls in until the rest of the pack scattered. But they always came back, tearing into our food, spreading their diseases. So every morning the rat man went out and killed them again.”</p><p>Tanith shifted in her seat, not having the faintest idea how she was supposed to respond. “There were always rats in the Montfort alienage too.”</p><p>When the Warden-Commander looked up at her Tanith realised how young the woman was, perhaps near to her own age. The year of the Fifth Blight Tanith had been eighteen, naive and stupid and reckless. Tabris would have barely reached adulthood when she joined the Wardens. When she set out, alone, to save the world.</p><p>“You’ve never seen the horde,” Tabris said. “So you can’t really know. A hundred Wardens killing a hundred darkspawn a day wouldn’t make a dent in their numbers. They are like locusts, destroying everything they touch.”</p><p>“I’ve read about that,” Tanith said. “How they swarm when they come aboveground.”</p><p>The Warden-Commander raked a hand through her hair. “Perchet and your recruiter have probably told you that the Grey Wardens are heroes,” she said. “That we are a proud and noble order, shielding the world from darkness. That we are protectors and guardians and caretakers.”</p><p>“They’ve used words to that effect.”</p><p>“Well they’re wrong.” Tabris looked up at her. In that moment the Commander’s eyes were calm, and clear, and perfectly sane. “The work of the Wardens is dirty, and necessary, and thankless. It achieves nothing but a brief delay of the inevitable. No matter how many darkspawn we kill, no matter how many entrances we close, they will always come back. We are not heroes. We are savages, beating rats to death with a club. That is all.”</p><p>“Then why do it?” Tanith asked. The Warden-Commander’s sudden clarity was unsettling. It would have been easy to dismiss her words if she was raving, but now she seemed entirely lucid.</p><p>“Because we must,” Tabris said. “Because that is the vow we have made. You know our motto, I expect.”</p><p>Tanith nodded. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance…”</p><p>“...in death, sacrifice,” the Commander finished. “Another old inaccuracy. For the Wardens, sacrifice does not wait until death. It begins the moment the blood touches your lips and lasts through what remains of your life. So many have forgotten that. So many wish to play soldier on the surface while the real war wages beneath their feet.”</p><p>“That’s why you’re down here, then? To fight that war?”</p><p>“No,” Tabris said. “I am here to end it.”</p><p>The manic glint was back in her eye again, a look of such hunger that it made Tanith’s skin prickle.</p><p>“Was there anything else you wished to discuss?” Tabris asked when Tanith offered no comment. “I have much to prepare.”</p><p>“No.” She was sure that what little information she had gleaned would be insufficient, but saw no way of extracting more without making Tabris suspicious. “Thank you for taking the time.”</p><p>The Warden-Commander nodded, then looked back down at her map without another word. Tanith took this as her cue to leave, daring one last glance at the box on the table before hurrying out of the chamber.</p><p>Once she had returned to the suite Tanith recounted the conversation to Blackwall, trying to recall everything that Tabris had said. He listened intently as she spoke, his eyes going dark when Tanith told him about the vials in the box.</p><p>“Are you sure it wasn’t darkspawn blood?” he asked once she had finished.</p><p>“Is darkspawn blood always black?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Then I’m sure.”</p><p>“Maker.” Blackwall rubbed at his face with his hands. “She’s completely out of her mind.”</p><p>“But that’s the thing,” Tanith frowned. “I’m not sure that she is.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>She shook her head. “There was a moment back there where she seemed… I don’t know. Clear-headed. Like she really believed what she was saying. Tabris might be a little touched, but I think she knows exactly what she’s doing.”</p><p>“Then she’s twice as dangerous,” Blackwall said gravely.</p><p>“Well that’s the backup plan done.” Tanith folded her arms over her chest. “What now?”</p><p>“Now we wait, I suppose. See what else we can find out.”</p><p>“And if she finishes with the books before we figure out what’s going on?”</p><p>“Then we go back to Fort Astor and tell Margot that we failed,” he said. “We’re not staying here any longer than we have to.”</p><p>“I was hoping you’d say that.”</p><p>Blackwall fell quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” he said. “For doing that. It’s not fair, putting you in this position.”</p><p>“I’m trying this new thing where I do my best to behave like a responsible and diligent Grey Warden,” she said. “How’s it working out?”</p><p>“It’s profoundly odd.” He smiled at her then, and Tanith felt a little warmth rise in her cheeks.</p><p>“It’s for a good cause,” she said quickly. “As soon as Perchet decides I’m civilised enough for her liking she’ll reassign me. Then I won’t be stuck with you any more.”</p><p>“Well, there is that,” Blackwall said. “Maker, but it’s miserable here. Do you fancy a drink?”</p><p>“Yes,” Tanith sighed. “Probably more than anything in the world.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. There In The Depths</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The crowd roared as the combatant landed the final blow, a wide swing of his maul that brought his opponent crashing to the ground. Blackwall winced as he saw the dent in the fallen dwarf’s helmet, knowing that such an injury would likely end the fighter’s career if not his life. Down in the arena the Proving Master walked forward and counted loudly to three, then raised an arm to indicate the match was over, spectators crying out in either triumph or dismay depending on which way they had placed their bets.</p>
<p>“That was <em> nasty</em>,” Tanith said, seemingly delighted by this fact. “Did you see the way his neck…? Ugh.” She shuddered. “We’re staying for the next one, right?”</p>
<p>That day they had finally taken Corra’s advice to go and watch the Provings, and had been sitting up in the high stalls for several hours already. The matches were brutal and often short, pitting the finest warriors in Orzammar against one another in combat. Blackwall appreciated the display of martial skill, particularly as the dwarven fighting style was so different to that practised by human soldiers. Tanith just seemed to enjoy watching people beating each other bloody. She sat cross-legged in her seat, letting out whoops of encouragement at every vicious blow and stuffing her face full of lava bugs. During their time in Orzammar she had developed a taste for the dwarven snack, tiny insects fried until crisp and tossed in some kind of potent spice. Blackwall found them almost unbearably hot, but Tanith ate the things by the handful.</p>
<p>Once the unconscious dwarf had been dragged out of the ring the next two competitors entered. The first was almost indistinguishable from the previous two, a warrior in heavy plate carrying a sword taller than he was. His opponent was a woman, dressed in a brown robe and holding no weapon that Blackwall could see.</p>
<p>“Is she unarmed?” Tanith said, leaning forward to get a better view.</p>
<p>“Looks like it.”</p>
<p>“Well she can’t be a mage, right?”</p>
<p>The dwarf sitting next to Tanith turned to them, grinning. “You’ve never seen one of the Silent Sisters fight before, have you?” he said.</p>
<p>“No,” Tanith said. “Never been to a Proving before.”</p>
<p>“Oh, just wait,” the dwarf said. “You’re in for a treat.”</p>
<p>They watched as the combatants circled one another, the warrior keeping low in preparation for his first strike. The woman simply watched him, her posture controlled as she stepped around the edge of the ring. Then the warrior swung his sword, and she darted out of the way so swiftly that Blackwall barely noticed it happen. While her opponent was recovering she stepped forward and hit him three times with a flat hand, quick and precise. She aimed for the weak points in the warrior’s armour, at his shoulders and above his gorget, and he stumbled back from the force of the blows. Before he could retaliate the woman had danced out of his reach, moving as fast and fluid as a running stream.</p>
<p>“Oh, <em> shit</em>,” Tanith said, leaning out over the railing to watch what was happening below.</p>
<p>Blackwall had to resist the urge to grab her by the shirt and yank her back into her seat. Sitting in the high balcony was an uncomfortable experience without worrying that Tanith would fall over the edge of it. She turned around and, seeing the expression on his face, laughed and sat back down.</p>
<p>“You worry too much.” Tanith tossed a lava bug into the air and caught it expertly in her mouth, crunching the insect’s carapace between her teeth.</p>
<p>The bout lasted for longer than the previous ones had, though not by much. Every time the warrior swung his sword at the woman she avoided it, ducking and rolling out of the way of the blade, then coming in to land a hard kick or sharp strike with her hand. The match ended when she managed to stab her elbow up into the exposed flesh below his helmet, causing him to drop his sword as he clutched at his throat. She kicked it out of his reach, and the Proving Master came forward to declare the bout forfeited in the Silent Sister’s favour.</p>
<p>When the cheering had quieted Tanith turned to Blackwall, her eyes wide. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m leaving the Grey Wardens. Going to join the Silent Sisters instead.”</p>
<p>“You realise the name implies that you’d have to stop talking?”</p>
<p>“I could be silent if I wanted to.”</p>
<p>“If you ever want to practice, be my guest.”</p>
<p>She swatted at him, grinning. “Shut up.”</p>
<p>They had been in Orzammar for almost two weeks now, to the best of Blackwall’s reckoning. Without a sky by which to tell the hour it was difficult to gauge the passage of time, and so each day bled seamlessly into the next. Tanith’s meeting with the Warden-Commander had been surprisingly fruitful, but after that the trail had gone cold. None of the Wardens at the compound would speak to them for more than a few minutes, there was no obvious indication of anything untoward happening in the estate, and Tabris was nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>It had been Tanith’s idea to return to the Commons, to attempt to glean more information from the people of the city rather than waiting for clues to materialise. So she and Blackwall had once again doffed their armour and travelled down from the Diamond Quarter, hoping that Orzammar’s citizens would be more forthcoming. It had proven to be a better tactic. They spoke to city guards and market traders and tavern patrons, learning more about the Warden-Commander from them than they had in their entire time in the compound.</p>
<p>House Dace were leading a group of deshyrs who were vocal in denouncing Tabris, and had threatened the Assembly with further action were she allowed to remain in Orzammar. A prominent Shaper had been murdered and the records he was working on destroyed, a crime for which many believed the Wardens were responsible. Oghren, who the dwarves referred to as the Commander’s ‘second’, was a disgraced member of the warrior caste whom Tabris had recruited during the Blight. The story they heard most often confirmed one of the rumours that had made its way to the surface. Tabris <em> had </em>taken her funeral rites with the Legion of the Dead, something that the dwarves considered to be in poor taste. After a few drinks a member of the mining caste had explained to them that, in dwarven culture, participating in this ceremony meant that the Warden-Commander was considered to be dead already. Her presence was no different to having a walking corpse in their midst.</p>
<p>Tanith’s silver tongue had been instrumental in coaxing this information from the people of Orzammar. She maintained the fiction that she and Blackwall were assistants to a merchant in Val Royeaux, in the city on business. The tale she span was so intricate and effortless than often Blackwall half-believed it himself. Increasingly often he felt that he might prefer it if Tanith’s version of events was true, and that they were merely visiting Orzammar for mercantile purposes. It would certainly be simpler than the reality.</p>
<p>The two of them had become regulars at Tapster’s, the tavern they had visited on their first night in the city. They stuck to imported ale after their early experience with the local brew, a decision for which Blackwall was eternally grateful, and had learned how to play Diamondback from a bored noble hunter. This last proved beneficial, as Tanith had a knack for the game and her winnings at the card table supplemented Margot’s rapidly dwindling purse.</p>
<p>At first these sojourns to the Commons had been fact-finding missions, a way to gather information on the Warden-Commander that they could not gain in the compound. After a few days they had heard every story and piece of gossip possible, and they had come just to get away from the uneasy silence of the estate. Eventually they began spending their days in the lower part of the city simply because they enjoyed it.</p>
<p>Once the last Proving match was over they left the arena, Tanith stopping on the way out to speak to a bookmaker with whom she had placed a few bets earlier in the day. Despite her selecting winners at random she had managed to make a small profit, and she returned with a smug smile on her face.</p>
<p>“That’s dinner tonight sorted,” she said, pocketing her winnings.</p>
<p>“You’ve a flair for gambling,” Blackwall said as they walked out onto the long bridge back to the Commons. “You should visit the tables in Val Royeaux. Make a killing.”</p>
<p>“If we ever get out of here I might do,” she said. Tanith lifted up the shell her lava bugs had come in and tipped the last of them into her mouth, then tossed the receptacle over the handrail and into the molten rock below.</p>
<p>“Are you allowed to do that?”</p>
<p>“Are we allowed to go to Proving matches when we’re supposed to be spying on the Hero of Ferelden?”</p>
<p>Blackwall felt a familiar knot of guilt tug in his stomach. “I don’t imagine the Warden-Constable would look too kindly on it, no.”</p>
<p>“What Margot doesn’t know can’t hurt her,” Tanith said. “Besides. It’s fun.”</p>
<p>They stepped off the bridge and into the bustling Commons, moving out of the way of a wagoneer pulling his stock to market. Tanith went to sit on one of the low stone benches dotted around the square and Blackwall joined her, watching the throng of dwarves going about their business.</p>
<p>“Does it really bother you?” Tanith asked. “That we’re not investigating Tabris every minute of the day?”</p>
<p>Blackwall frowned, considering it. “I don’t know that there’s much more we could be doing,” he said. “Short of breaking into her office and getting ourselves killed.”</p>
<p>Tanith looked up a him, a sly smile curling across her lips. “Admit it,” she said. “You like this.”</p>
<p>“Like what?”</p>
<p>“Slacking off,” she said. “You’re slacking off your duties and you’re enjoying it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I’d call it slacking off—”</p>
<p>“Oh, come <em> on</em>,” she laughed. “Yesterday we spent three hours watching <em> nug racing</em>. That’s firmly in slacking off territory. Trust me, I’m kind of an expert in that field.”</p>
<p>“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Margot would skin us both alive if she could see us now.”</p>
<p>“Well, she can’t,” Tanith said firmly. “And I’d rather be down here than sneaking about in House Creepy. You said it yourself, this is a ridiculous mission. I don’t see why we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves. When’s the last time you had a break, anyway?”</p>
<p>Blackwall spent half a minute trying to recall this information, and Tanith cut in before he could summon it up.</p>
<p>“Asked and answered,” she said. “Look, don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’ve probably earned a bit of downtime.”</p>
<p>Tanith gave him half a smile, a wry thing that twisted the corners of her mouth. A stray curl had fallen across her forehead, and Blackwall had to fight back a sudden, wild impulse to push it back from her face. Instead he looked back to the crowd, trying to focus on the faces of the dwarves who hurried across the plaza.</p>
<p>Despite her inexperience Tanith had all but taken charge of the mission over the last week, possessing a gift for subterfuge that Blackwall couldn’t match. Much of the time he found himself simply following her around, standing mutely while she wheedled gossip from the common folk of Orzammar. While she was still given over to occasional spells of ill-temper, now he saw her in high spirits more often than not. She was quick and clever and sometimes cruel, relentlessly pragmatic, her quiet cunning both joy and terror to watch. Tanith laughed easily, snapped often, the fire in her a force of nature that few could stand against.</p>
<p>She was also beautiful, a thought which Blackwall found himself having to deny with increasing frequency.</p>
<p>“We should probably go back though,” Tanith said, not sounding happy about it. “At least pretend that we’re doing our jobs.”</p>
<p>“We are doing our jobs,” he said. “We’ve learned more about Tabris down here than we ever did from speaking to her.”</p>
<p>“True. Nothing <em> useful </em> though.” She folded her legs underneath her, frowning as she looked out across the Commons. “Do you think she knows that we’re here to spy on her?”</p>
<p>“Almost certainly,” Blackwall said. “And I imagine it’s making her cautious. We’ll be fortunate if we get another word out of her.”</p>
<p>“So what, then?” Tanith asked irritably. “We can’t stay down here forever.”</p>
<p>Blackwall had been thinking this himself for a while now. “I say we give it another week,” he said. “Or whatever feels like a week. Then we tell Tabris we need the texts back and we leave. If Margot takes issue then she’s welcome to come down here and try her luck herself.”</p>
<p>“Sounds fair to me,” she said. “Still. I hope it doesn’t come to that.”</p>
<p>“No? I thought you were desperate to leave.”</p>
<p>“Well I am,” Tanith said. “Sort of. But now we’re here I want to know what Tabris is up to. It’ll drive me crazy if we don’t find out.”</p>
<p>“Me too.” If nothing else, he owed it to Harrin to discover what was going on.</p>
<p>“Come on then,” she said, standing up. “Let’s go back. See if we can get someone to say more than five words to us.”</p>
<p>“Is that the record now?”</p>
<p>“That dwarf with the missing ear hit a full seven yesterday,” she said. “Maybe we should try him again. He was very garrulous.”</p>
<p>Reluctantly they left the Commons and made their way up the high steps to the Diamond Quarter. The guards nodded as they passed, recognising their faces after a fortnight of constant back-and-forth. Blackwall walked slower than usual, putting off the inevitable moment where he would have to step back inside the compound with all of its uneasy silence. Usually he was comfortable with silence, the quiet of the road being his constant companion. But the silence of the Warden estate was different. It was a tense, eerie thing, a void made of words going unsaid.</p>
<p>When they stepped through the door of the compound, however, they found the halls humming with activity. Wardens rushed through the corridors, carrying crates or checking their weapons, speaking to one another in low whispers. The atmosphere was so different to the constant stillness Blackwall had become accustomed to that it threw him off balance for a moment.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Tanith said quietly. “What’s happening?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“Let’s find out.”</p>
<p>She walked purposefully along the corridors, eyeing the Wardens as they passed. Everyone seemed to be moving more swiftly than usual, looks of determination of their faces as they hurried through the low passageways. Blackwall was unnerved by the sudden shift in mood. Whatever had happened to bring this change about, he was certain that Tabris was at the centre of it.</p>
<p>They found the Warden-Commander outside the vhenadahl door, scowling as she read over a scroll. She seemed much smaller standing than she had in the audience chamber, a few inches taller than Tanith but not statuesque by any means. Oghren stood beside her as always, his expression grim as he watched their approach.</p>
<p>“Warden-Commander,” Blackwall said. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“We’re moving out,” Tabris replied, not looking up from the scroll.</p>
<p>“Moving out where?”</p>
<p>“To the roads. The Legion’s met their recruitment quota and we’re escorting them down. Are you coming?”</p>
<p>Blackwall glanced at Tanith, saw the look of panic on her face. He felt much the same. There had never been any talk of them going into the Deep Roads, the passages under the earth where the darkspawn horde resided.</p>
<p>Tabris looked up at them when they did not respond, obviously irritated. “We are going to kill darkspawn,” she said sharply. “You are Grey Wardens. To my mind there is only one answer to that question. If you wish to flee, flee. If you’re coming, be ready to depart in an hour. I care not.” She rolled the scroll up tightly and returned to the audience chamber, Oghren following close on her heels.</p>
<p>When the vhenadahl door banged closed Tanith turned to Blackwall. “The Deep Roads?” she said. “No one said anything about going to the <em> fucking Deep Roads</em>.”</p>
<p>She was speaking loudly, and several Wardens glanced towards her as they passed.</p>
<p>“Let’s talk about this in private,” Blackwall said quietly. “Come on.”</p>
<p>They returned to their suite, making sure the door was locked before resuming their conversation. Tanith paced the room in agitation, tugging a lock of her hair.</p>
<p>“What do we <em> do</em>?” she hissed.</p>
<p>“What do you think we should do?”</p>
<p>She wheeled on him, eyes very wide. “How should I know? You’re the one who’s supposed to be in charge here!”</p>
<p>“I just want to know what you think,” he said. “I won’t make this decision for you.”</p>
<p>Tanith sank onto the couch. “I don’t have to tell you that I don’t <em> want </em> to go,” she said. “But think about it. What do we know about Tabris? She’s doing something with blood. She’s going to the Deep Roads more often than she should. It makes sense that the two are connected, right?”</p>
<p>Blackwall nodded. “It does.”</p>
<p>“So… I guess going with her is our best shot at finding out what it is she’s actually doing.” All the colour had drained from Tanith’s face. “Which, I suppose, means that we should.”</p>
<p>“I think you’re probably right.”</p>
<p>“I was learning about the roads,” she said. “With Odette, before we left Fort Astor. People who go down there don’t come back, more often than not. If the darkspawn don’t kill you a cave-in might, or a million other things.”</p>
<p>“Tabris has managed to survive it.”</p>
<p>“That’s not exactly comforting,” Tanith pointed out. “Trapped underground with a woman even death is afraid of.”</p>
<p>Blackwall swallowed hard. “I can go,” he said. “I’m the senior Warden. You head back to Fort Astor, tell Margot what we’ve learned so far.”</p>
<p>Tanith looked at him incredulously. “And leave you to go down there alone? No way. We go together or we don’t go at all.”</p>
<p>Her words made Blackwall feel more relieved than he cared to admit. “If you insist.”</p>
<p>“I do,” she said. “Shit. We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”</p>
<p>“Certainly looks that way.”</p>
<p>“I don't think Tabris is wrong, either,” Tanith said quietly. “We’re Grey Wardens. This is our job.”</p>
<p>“Do you really believe that?” Blackwall asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I’m starting to.” Tanith stood, rubbing at her eyes. “We should get ready before we change our minds.”</p>
<p>She walked back into her room and closed the door behind her. Following suit, Blackwall went to buckle himself into his armour for the first time in days. As he strapped his sword to his belt he thought about what Tabris had said, what Tanith had echoed after her. They were Grey Wardens, and their enemy lay in the Deep Roads. It should be the most logical thing in the world for them to travel there. But Blackwall had never done so, and knew maybe a handful of other Wardens who had ventured underground before their Calling. It was not a journey he had imagined taking for a score of years or more.</p>
<p>But take it he must. Whatever Harrin had seen that had sent him running, Blackwall was certain that it had been in the Deep Roads. Following Tabris there might be his only chance to find answers. His hands shook as he picked up his shield, and he realised suddenly that he was terrified. Not at the prospect of dying at the hands of the darkspawn, not at the thought that their journey would be for nothing. Blackwall was afraid that he would see what Harrin had seen, and that it would break him just the same.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. You Have Left That Path</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tabris led their party out of the estate and through the Diamond Quarter. There were around twenty of them altogether; the Commander and her second, a dozen of the Orzammar Wardens, three members of the order who had reached their Calling. Tanith and Blackwall walked at the end of the procession, watching the faces of the nobles as they passed. The looks they gave the Wardens were heavy with disgust, and several spoke insults loud enough for them to hear. While Tanith knew that the dwarves resented Tabris, seeing their vitriol up close was something entirely different. This was not mere discontent. This was hatred. The Warden-Commander paid them no mind, maintaining a steady pace as she marched them down towards the Commons.</p><p>Tanith kept her head low as they passed through Orzammar’s central plaza, not wanting anyone there to recognise her in her uniform. She felt more than a little guilty about the fiction she had been building for the past two weeks. At first it had been an act of convenience, a way to trick information from the people of the city. But she had grown to like these same people, and now regretted the lie. What would Corra say, if she knew that her new regulars were Grey Wardens? Would she even allow them through the tavern door?</p><p>“Are you sure about this?” Blackwall asked under his breath as they turned down an unfamiliar path. “It’s not too late to go back.”</p><p>“Of course I’m not sure,” she replied. “But we’re in it now.”</p><p>The road Tabris had led them onto sloped downwards, leading around the edge of the rock into the lower reaches of the cavern. As they moved closer to the lava below the air became almost unbearably hot, and Tanith felt her forehead grow damp with sweat. She drew some magic in with a breath and let a thin layer of ice form around her fingers, then held her hand to the back of her neck. The ice melted quickly, cold water running down her collar and along her spine, making her shiver.</p><p>Eventually they came to a halt in a large open space, the ground below their feet cracked and uneven. A great octagonal door was set into the raw stone of the cavern wall, thirty feet high and guarded by half a dozen armed guards. There seemed to be some sort of celebration taking place. Dwarves sat at long tables laid out in front of the door, all heaving with food and casks of ale. Despite the festival appearance, the atmosphere in the crowd was subdued.</p><p>“What is this?” Tanith asked Blackwall.</p><p>One of the other Wardens replied instead, turning his hollow-eyed stare towards her. “It is a funeral. Tonight the Legion recruits mourn their first death. It is our honour to accompany them to their second.”</p><p>“Very cheerful,” Blackwall muttered under his breath as the man walked away.</p><p>“Every time I think this can’t get any creepier,” Tanith said. “I guess we’re going to a funeral, then.”</p><p>One of the tables had been left empty, seemingly for the Wardens, as they went and sat down along the benches when they arrived. Tabris went off to speak to the guards outside the octagonal door, and Tanith saw the way the dwarves stiffened as she approached. Following the lead of the other Wardens, she and Blackwall found a seat at the furthest corner of the table, as far away from their brothers-in-arms as was possible. Tanith looked at the dwarves who had gathered for their funeral rites, and was surprised by the diversity of those who wore the Legion armour; some were barely adults, some were old enough to have grandchildren, and while many bore the geometric facial tattoos of the city’s casteless, several were clearly nobility. Unlike those in the Diamond Quarter and the Commons, the dwarves here did not look upon the Wardens with open disdain. Many seemed wary, but a few nodded respectfully as the order came to join them.</p><p>The funeral lasted for several hours. After the food had been cleared away one of the dwarves began chanting in his native tongue, a deep, low dirge that echoed around the chamber. One by one the others added their voices to his, building layers of harmony and counterpoint until the air was humming with the sound. Tanith couldn’t say why it was so, but something about the song made her want to cry. Some of the dwarves — those who were unarmoured, perhaps friends or relatives of the Legion recruits — wept openly as they chanted, their sobs lending an odd discordant tone to the music.</p><p>The song came to an abrupt end, and once it was finished the toasts began. Some of the recruits told their own stories, of the crimes they had committed or the lost honour they wished restored. Others spoke of their sons and daughters, their brothers and sisters, those who would sacrifice their lives twice for the safety of their home. There was a gravity to the speeches that reminded Tanith somewhat of her own Joining. Like the Grey Wardens, the people here were giving up all they had to combat the darkspawn. Except, unlike most of the Wardens, those who swore themselves to the Legion attacked the horde at its source.</p><p>Once the last of the toasts was done, Tabris rose from her place at the head of the table and climbed onto the steps that led to the octagonal door. Her armour was freshly polished, the scabbard buckled at her hip decorated with a pattern of rearing griffons. She stood straight-backed on the staircase, and with one glance of her mismatched eyes the gathering fell silent.</p><p>When she spoke her voice carried through the cavern, strong and clear as a bell. “As always, it is an honour to stand alongside our brothers and sisters in the Legion. Ours is a common enemy, a common goal. Tonight you return to the old thaigs of your people. In the days to come you will deliver vengeance for all you have lost a thousand times over, and return to the stone with your honour washed clean.”</p><p>There was a murmur of appreciation from the gathered dwarves, and several tapped their tankards quietly against the tabletops.</p><p>“But you do not go alone,” Tabris continued. “Those Wardens who hear the Call will accompany you to the trenches, and will stand by your side as you meet the horde.” She turned to the Wardens’ table. “Mira. Simeon. Periel.” Two humans and an elven woman stood as the Warden-Commander spoke their names. All three were in their middle years, sporting scars that told of years spent in battle. “You have been victorious. You have been vigilant. Now it is time to make one last sacrifice. You have earned your rest.”</p><p>The older Wardens nodded, and Tabris turned back to the gathered crowd.</p><p>“Our two orders have much in common,” she said. “Like the Legion, the Wardens accept all who come to take the vow. Rich or poor, criminal or king. We care not for titles or histories. We seek no glory, receive no gratitude. We simply do what must be done, so that others may survive.” Her eyes flashed in the torchlight as she pitched her voice louder. “For a thousand years the darkspawn have brought death to this world. Today, you bring death to them!”</p><p>Tabris snarled the last word, but it was not the feral growl of a woman out of her senses. It was the battle-cry of a warrior, a champion, and the crowd exploded into cheers as her speech came to a close. They stamped their feet and roared and bashed their gauntleted fists on the tables, filling the cavern with a cacophony of sound. Tanith looked up at the Warden-Commander, standing motionless on the steps, and a wave of exhilaration washed over her. To hear the crowd cheer for this woman, an elf, an <em> alienage </em> elf, sent a sudden thrill through her heart. In that moment Tanith did not see a madwoman, a despot hellbent on destruction, a starving lion tearing at its cage. She saw a leader, the woman who had once spelled hope for her people. She saw the Hero of Ferelden.</p><p>Then Tabris made a sweeping gesture, and everyone began moving at once. The Legion recruits said tearful farewells to their friends and families while the Wardens pulled the supply carts towards the doors, moving with a practiced efficiency. Having been given no instructions, Tanith and Blackwall followed at a distance.</p><p>“Do you see what I mean now?” Tanith hissed. “Blackwall, I don’t think she’s mad. Not entirely, anyway.”</p><p>He nodded slowly. “It’s been years since I’ve heard anyone talk about the order like that.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Like she was proud of it,” he said. “But we can’t forget everything else. Harrin. The blood in her office. Giving a good speech doesn’t mean she’s not doing something untoward.”</p><p>“I know,” Tanith sighed. “I just can’t shake the feeling that it’s not quite as simple as that.”</p><p>Blackwall gave a grim laugh. “Things rarely are.”</p><p>It took four soldiers to turn the mechanism that opened the gate. The heavy metal door swung slowly on its hinges, and while it parted the Wardens and Legion recruits formed up in rows behind Tabris. The air that wafted out from the Deep Roads entrance was stale, smelling of ashes and rotting things. For a moment the gathered troops simply stood, staring into the dim passage beyond. Then Tabris took a step forward, and the crowd followed as one.</p><p>Tanith had learned about the Deep Roads in one of Odette’s many dry lessons on Warden history. She knew that they were great subterranean highways that connected the ancient dwarven cities, and that they ran the length and breadth of Thedas. Reading about them was one thing, but seeing them for herself was something else entirely. The roads were vast, great high-ceilinged passages wide enough for four wagons to pass abreast, bordered by channels of lava that provided the only light. Every wall was covered in carvings, and while many had been destroyed or eroded over time some were still intact. Like the Hall of Heroes at the city entrance, they showed stylised dwarves in a variety of poses; fighting, mining, hunting some creature that Tanith could not place. She stared at the friezes as they walked, the enormity of all that the dwarves had lost beginning to dawn on her. The hahren in Montfort had spoken often of the ancient empire of the elves, but that history was so far away that Tanith had never been able to picture it. What must it be like to have the evidence of your people’s demise so close at hand, with only a door separating the living from an endless graveyard?</p><p>Though time was a nebulous thing under the earth, after an hour of marching Tanith was certain that she had been awake much longer than usual. Her eyes felt heavy with want of sleep, and her feet ached from the day’s walking. To make matters worse, she had a headache that had been growing exponentially ever since they had entered the Deep Roads. Tanith pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead, trying to push back the odd tension that was building there.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Blackwall asked.</p><p>“Headache.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s a headache,” he said carefully. “I think you’re sensing the darkspawn.”</p><p>Tanith’s heart lurched in her chest. “What?” she said. “Are they close?”</p><p>He shook his head. “No. But there are… many of them.”</p><p>“Maker, how can you tell?”</p><p>“You learn how to identify it after a while,” he said. “Try to concentrate on it. What does it feel like?”</p><p>Tanith closed her eyes and focused on the bizarre sensation. It was almost a humming behind her eyes, a prickling touch that made her want to claw at her scalp. “Like there’s a beehive in my skull.”</p><p>“That’s more or less what it is,” Blackwall said. “The darkspawn are more like insects than people. What you’re feeling is the horde, somewhere further ahead. You’ll get used to it.”</p><p>“You always say that,” she grumbled. “The hunger, the weird dreams, being a recruiter. If I got my leg chopped off you’d just say ‘oh, you’ll get used to it’.”</p><p>“Well, you probably would, after a while.”</p><p>“I am <em>begging</em> you to stop talking.”</p><p>As they travelled further into the Deep Roads the signs of decay grew more pronounced. There were whole passages blocked off by cave-ins, and piles of masonry scattered across the ground that had to be moved to allow the wagons to pass. There were also more sinister signs; the remnants of jagged fortifications, deep scratches in the carvings on the walls, scraps of rusted metal that might once have been armour. All the while the humming grew more pronounced, making Tanith’s skin crawl.</p><p>For the duration of their journey they had been travelling in a straight line down the central road, but soon they found the way ahead so obstructed by rubble that they were unable to continue. At the Warden-Commander’s signal the party turned and headed down a side passage. This trail was half as wide as the main road had been, with walls of raw stone. There was no lava here, and one of the Warden mages kindled a light at the end of his staff to guide the way forwards. It did little to illuminate their surroundings, and Tanith recoiled as she walked face first into something sticky and gossamer-thin.</p><p>“Oh, shit.” She spat onto the ground, rubbing the stuff away from her eyes and mouth. “Maker’s blood, what <em> is </em>that?”</p><p>Blackwall reached out and plucked some of the material between his thumb and finger. “I’ve no idea.”</p><p>“Well, it’s disgusting. Watch your step.”</p><p>Eventually the road opened up into a larger cavern, gone much to ruin but showing clear signs of former habitation. There was a large, cracked slab of stone in the centre of the floor that reminded Tanith of the market plaza in Orzammar, and some of the crumbled piles of rock could conceivably once been buildings. A waystation, perhaps, or a small settlement. The same wispy material that Tanith had walked into earlier covered the walls and hung in long strands from the ceiling. A river of lava running through the centre of the chamber had once been crossed by three wide bridges, but only one now remained. Tabris headed directly for it, indicating for the rest of the group to follow her.</p><p>One of the most unsettling things about the Deep Roads was how quiet it was. Aside from the metallic sound of forty armoured people walking on stone and the low rumbling of lava, the long-abandoned passages were entirely silent. As they crossed the broken stone, however, Tanith heard something in the distance; the faintest clicking noise, reminding her almost of a pair of scissors.</p><p>Tabris must have heard it too, for she stopped dead in her tracks and silently signalled for the others to do the same. Her undamaged ear swivelled wildly, searching for the source of the noise. Tanith held her breath, straining to listen past the constant humming.</p><p>“Crawlers,” Tabris called suddenly. “Wardens, to me. Legion, at the flank.”</p><p>They moved immediately, the Orzammar Wardens forming into a tight phalanx around the Warden-Commander while the Legion recruits dropped back. All of them had their weapons drawn.</p><p>“Blackwall,” Tanith whispered. “What’s a crawler?”</p><p>“Nothing good, I expect.”</p><p>She swallowed, rapidly channelling magic into herself as she took her staff down off her back.</p><p>For nearly a minute they stood perfectly still, the silence enveloping them as they waited. Then the clicking came again, louder now, and a moment later a dozen monstrous shapes skittered out of the darkness.</p><p>At first Tanith was too alarmed to do anything but stumble backwards, choking back a shriek as the crawlers fell onto the front line. They were like spiders, only <em> huge</em>, each the size of a covered wagon, spindly legs moving horrifically fast as they lunged towards the Wardens. The retaliation was immediate, a flurry of blades and clashing shields as the warriors fought the creatures back. Several arrows were loosed from the back of the cavern, flying over Tanith’s head to bury themselves in the crawlers’ distended abdomens.</p><p>There was a warning cry from the left side of the chamber, and she turned to see the Legion recruits battling another cluster of the creatures, already close to being overwhelmed. Blackwall unsheathed his sword and ran to assist them, leaving Tanith alone near the centre of the plaza. Between the panic and the hum it was almost impossible to focus on her magic, but she gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate on drawing energy into herself. Once her limbs were tingling she looked around for a target, wary of hitting one of her comrades with a spell gone awry. She spotted a crawler making its way into the fray from the corner of the chamber, not yet engaged with any of their party but making its way rapidly towards Tabris and the other Wardens.</p><p>Tanith let out a wordless cry as she thrust her staff towards the creature, letting the magic suffusing her flesh be drawn up and out of her weapon. A bolt of lightning illuminated the cavern starkly for a moment before colliding with the crawler’s thorax, tearing its chitinous carapace to shreds and sending two thin legs flying across the room. Encouraged by her success, Tanith sprinted closer to the Warden lines to better aim at her next target. She watched as Tabris bashed her shield into one of the creatures’ snapping mandibles, then drew back to stab her sword deep into its cluster of eyes. As the Warden-Commander kicked it away it let out something like a scream, greenish blood fountaining from the wound.</p><p>The Wardens in the middle of the phalanx seemed to have things in hand, so Tanith turned to the right side of the line. The crawlers were bearing down on them harder there, and she spotted several more scuttling through the blackness. There was a stone pillar between the creatures and their targets, and the sight of it gave Tanith an idea. She levelled her staff towards it, breathing in slowly as she channelled another surge of magic.</p><p>Before she could unleash it someone grabbed hard at her wrist, yanking her staff towards the ground. She turned to see Oghren staring at her in abject fury, his hand still gripped around her arm.</p><p>“Are you out of your sodding mind?” he spat. “You’ll bring the whole place down! Watch where you’re shooting that thing.”</p><p>He let go of her with a grunt of disgust, running back to where the fighting was the thickest. For a moment all that Tanith could do was stand there, breathing hard as she imagined being buried alive under countless tons of rock. Eventually she managed to collect herself, though her heart was still pounding. It had never occurred to her that an ill-placed spell could cause a cave-in down here. She resolved to think harder next time.</p><p>Tanith kept her distance from the battle, focusing on throwing bolts of energy towards the crawlers that emerged from the shadows to pounce upon the melee. Sweat poured down her face as she attacked, and her arms ached from the strain of holding her staff aloft. She had never used this much magic at once before, not even in training sessions with Hywel, and the effort of it was draining her reserves of energy. Luckily the Legion recruits and the other Wardens seemed to be holding their own against the creatures, but the things just kept coming. Every time one was cut down another dropped from the ceiling, strands of silky webbing trailing from their spinnerets.</p><p>Her head was beginning to swim from the exertion when she heard a low sound echo through the cavern, a trumpeting bellow that filled the chamber. Several of the Wardens looked up and cheered, the jubilant sound strange coming from those so often silent. Tanith turned in time to see a dozen dwarves enter through a narrow side passage, wearing Legion armour and running full pelt at the crawlers with their weapons unsheathed. They crashed into the creatures’ backs, hacking at their flesh with the kind of brutal efficiency that could only come from experience.</p><p>The appearance of the Legionnaires turned the tide of the battle. They dispatched the crawlers swiftly, focusing their efforts on the front lines so the Wardens could drop back and recover. Tanith summoned what little energy she had left to throw a few more spells out to the edges of the field, but before long she was almost spent. She leaned heavily against her staff, panting as the fighting slowed around her.</p><p>One of the Legionnaires ran up to her, barked through his helmet. “You a mage?”</p><p>“Yes,” she breathed.</p><p>He pointed to the pale wisps of material covering the walls. “Burn it.”</p><p>“I don’t—”</p><p>“Burn it!” He snapped the words, then ran towards a crawler that was approaching from the far side of the cavern.</p><p>Tanith hauled herself upright and swallowed hard, grasped at her magic with what little energy she had left. It took a while, but eventually she managed to channel enough power. She pointed her staff at the closest patch of webbing and sent a small missile of flame shooting out of it, praying that it wasn’t large enough to damage the stone. The gauzy material went up like tinder, the fire spreading fast towards the ceiling before burning out, sending a shower of ash floating like snow to the ground below. Tanith repeated the action several times, burning away the webbing that covered the chamber in sections, hearing the crawlers still ensconced inside it screaming as they went up in flames.</p><p>The last of the webs caught just as her power failed her, and she sank to her knees on the shattered stone of the cavern. Looking up she saw that only a handful of the creatures remained, and those were soon cut down. The Legionnaire who had told her to burn the webs was standing nearby, his black armour covered in gore. As she watched he sheathed the wicked daggers he carried, then pushed the visor of his helmet up to wipe the sweat from his face. His cheeks and brow bore the blocky tattoos of one born casteless, and his jaw was dark with stubble.</p><p>“Lieutenant.”</p><p>Tanith glanced up at the call, saw Tabris looking over at the Legionnaire from across the cavern.</p><p>“Commander,” he replied, smiling as he turned in her direction.</p><p>Tabris sheathed her sword and walked over to where he stood, the two of them clasping wrists warmly. Tanith leaned forward and made a pantomime of rebuckling her boots, swivelling one ear in their direction to better hear their conversation.</p><p>“Those grubs over there for me?” the Legionnaire said, nodding at the recruits who were regrouping at the back of the chamber.</p><p>“They are indeed,” Tabris said. “The finest criminals and pariahs Orzammar has to offer.”</p><p>“It’s been a while.”</p><p>“I know,” she sighed. “Dace has been taking issue with my expeditions. Haven’t been able to risk coming down as often as I'd like.”</p><p>“Those dusters in the Assembly don’t know what’s good for them.”</p><p>“You’re telling me.”</p><p>“Where you headed this time?” the Legionnaire asked.</p><p>“Ortan,” Tabris said. “Are you taking them to Bownammar?”</p><p>“If we can. We’ll come through Ortan with you first, if that’s alright with you.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Forward camp’s about a half mile out. We should get going before the crawlers come back.”</p><p>Tabris nodded, then turned and shouted across the cavern. “Legion! Wardens! To me.”</p><p>As the rest of the party gathered Tanith stood and melted back into the crowd, hoping that her eavesdropping had gone unnoticed.</p><p>“Legion,” Tabris said. “This is Lieutenant Kamien. He’ll be your command from here, and I leave you in his capable hands. Wardens, get ready to move out.”</p><p>“Same to you, recruits,” Kamien said. “If you’re not ready to go in five you’ll get left behind.”</p><p>The crowd scattered as people went to prepare themselves for the next leg of the journey, cleaning blood from their weapons and retrieving arrows from the corpses of the crawlers. Tanith still hadn’t entirely recovered from the fight, the power she had burned through leaving her dizzy and lightheaded. She took a few steps forward and stumbled, her legs giving way beneath her.</p><p>Someone caught her and pulled her back to standing before she hit the ground. Tanith turned to see Blackwall beside her, the expression on his face concerned.</p><p>“Are you well?” he asked.</p><p>“Fine,” she said. “Just exhausted. I’ve never channelled that much in one go before.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself like that.”</p><p>“Would you have preferred it if I had saved my strength and been eaten by giant spiders?”</p><p>“It would be a more interesting way to go, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Shut up.” Tanith glared at him, and was suddenly very aware that his arm was still wrapped around her shoulders. She stood very still for a moment, trying not to think about the way her body was pressed to his, certain that the racing of her pulse was overexertion and nothing more.</p><p>“Are you alright to walk?” he asked.</p><p>“Depends on the alternative,” Tanith said. Then she frowned, shaking her head as she pushed herself off him. “Yes, I can walk.”</p><p>They joined the other Wardens and the Legionnaires, who were making their way over the remaining bridge in the centre of the cavern. Ash from the burned webs was still falling, hissing gently where it landed on the surface of the lava. The passage they took led them back into the wide halls of the Deep Roads proper, circumventing the cave-in that had blocked their way earlier. Parts of the sculpted walls here were covered in a strange black substance, the surface oil-slick where it caught the light. There was a strange scent in the air too, like meat left out in the sun for too long.</p><p>“You see that?” Blackwall said, nodding to the dark stains. “That’s the darkspawn corruption. Means we’re getting closer to the horde.”</p><p>“Oh good,” Tanith said queasily. “I can’t wait to meet them.”</p><p>“They’re still a decent way off. Should be safe for now.”</p><p>“‘For now’ being the operative term.”</p><p>Soon they saw firelight further along the passage, which resolved itself into a small encampment. A handful of Legionnaires called a greeting as they saw the group approaching, a welcome that was returned by some of the Wardens. Tanith had seen more camaraderie among their number in the Deep Roads than she had in their entire stay at the estate.</p><p>Once they had arrived in the Legionnaire camp the Wardens went straight to work, unloading a crate of supplies off one of the wagons and pitching tents along the edge of the road. Tanith and Blackwall had brought no such provisions, the expedition having taken them by surprise, and as before they did their best to stay out of the way. Supper was hardtack and a thin, salty broth that Tanith chose not to think too deeply about. The Legionnaires and the Wardens talked quietly as they ate, their low voices making a gentle susurrus. Their party was perhaps sixty-strong now, almost a military unit. These numbers bolstered Tanith’s spirits slightly. She didn’t like the idea of encountering the darkspawn with anything less than an army behind her.</p><p>After dinner was over Lieutenant Kamien called the Legion recruits forward. He had a clay bowl in which he placed a handful of some papery substance, packing it in tightly before setting it alight with an ember from the campfire. The material burned to nothing, filling the air with a smell like citrus and spices. One by one the recruits knelt in front of the Lieutenant, and he spoke words in his mother tongue as he painted their faces with ashes. The markings he made matched those he and his comrades wore, skull-like daubings that made death masks of their features.</p><p>When the last recruit returned to their post Kamien turned his attention to Tabris. For a moment she didn’t move, just stood in the circle of firelight with her arms folded across her chest. Then she walked forward and took a knee in front of him, her greaves clinking as they met the stone floor.</p><p>“Yes, Stone's greetings, friend,” Kamien said in the common tongue. “You will fight ceaselessly in the Legion of the Dead.” He dipped his thumb in the ashes and stroked it under each of her eyes, over her lips. “Our secrets die with us.”</p><p>Tabris rose to her feet, the ruin of her face made even more fearsome by the dark markings. She said nothing as she returned to her place by the fire, her expression impossible to discern. The flickering light danced over the jagged edges of her scars, catching the vacant white of her left eye.</p><p>“Alright,” Kamien called. “We need two volunteers for first watch.”</p><p>“I’ll take it,” Tabris said without looking up.</p><p>“And me.” Tanith spoke quickly. Opportunities to be alone with the Warden-Commander were few and far between, and she didn’t want to pass up the chance to speak with her where no one else could listen in.</p><p>The Lieutenant looked almost irritated. “Fine,” he said. “Swap out in two hours. Everybody else, get some rest. You’ll need it.”</p><p>Tabris walked over to the edge of the camp and stood staring out into the blackness of the road beyond. The corruption was thick on the stone here, covering the walls like lichen. Still exhausted from the battle with the crawlers, Tanith found a boulder near to the Warden-Commander and sank down onto it. Her awareness of the darkspawn still buzzed and hummed at her temples, though it had stilled a little now.</p><p>“So,” Tanith said, glancing up at Tabris. “This is the Deep Roads.”</p><p>The Warden-Commander was as motionless as a statue. “This is the Deep Roads.”</p><p>“I hadn’t even heard of the Legion before joining the Wardens,” she said. “Do you work with them often?”</p><p>“As often as we can.” Tabris spoke quietly, her eyes never moving from the tunnel ahead. “They understand the Wardens in a way few others do. They know what it is to sacrifice.”</p><p>“Dying’s a pretty big sacrifice,” Tanith said.</p><p>Tabris was silent for a moment. Then she bent down, picking up an insect that was scuttling over the stone. The creature thrashed between her fingers as she held it in place, pincers snapping uselessly at her gauntlets.</p><p>“The desire to live is a base instinct,” Tabris said. “No matter how small, how helpless. Even the meekest of creatures will fight for survival if threatened. It is as natural as breathing.” She looked up at Tanith, the ash smeared across her face made darker by the half-light. “To <em> choose </em>death, to pursue it constantly and with your whole self, requires more discipline than most people can dream of. Life cannot be preserved without death, as the Legion know well. They go swiftly to theirs. The Wardens more slowly, but we make that journey all the same. Uncomfortable as it may be to acknowledge, this is the path we walk.”</p><p>The Warden-Commander crouched down and set the insect gently back on the ground. It ran to safety, skittering towards a fissure in the stone and disappearing into the darkness.</p><p>“I do not resent those Wardens who remain on the surface,” she said quietly. “Choosing life is in their nature. Believe it or not, I understand that. But I have also seen what becomes of the world if we are complacent. I cannot— I <em> will </em>not allow that to happen again.”</p><p>“You talk a lot about dying,” Tanith said, watching her closely. “But you’re still here. You survived.”</p><p>“I went to my death once.” The Warden-Commander’s eyes were far away. “Gladly and willingly and with pride. It was stolen from me. My good death, and all else with it.” She swallowed. “I died on the tower in every way that mattered.”</p><p>Tanith didn’t know what she meant by that, and had a feeling that it was better not to ask.</p><p>“I haven't seen the sun or heard my name in ten years,” Tabris continued. “But such things are no sacrifice when you are dead. There is a freedom in it. It allows you to make decisions that the living cannot.”</p><p>“Decisions like what?” Tanith spoke carefully, trying to keep the movement of her ears nonchalant.</p><p>“You are new to the order,” the Commander said, “and need not concern yourself with such things. Focus on learning the nature of your enemy. The hard choices will come in time.”</p><p>Tanith sat in silence for a while, trying to unpick those cryptic statements. <em> It allows you to make decisions that the living cannot. </em>What was a person capable of when they believed themselves dead, when no punishment or consequence could deter them from a course of action?</p><p>There were times when Tabris seemed entirely in control of her faculties, but sooner or later that facade always slipped. Tanith wasn’t sure whether she really believed that the Warden-Commander was to be trusted, or if that was merely something she wished to be true. A part of her still hoped that the Hero of Ferelden was in there somewhere.</p><p>She watched Tabris look out at the empty road, and saw the way her intact ear turned towards the darkness. It was almost as though she were listening.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. A Void In All Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blackwall was woken by Tabris calling for the men to pack up camp, her voice jolting him sharply from a dreamless sleep. He sat, feeling as though he had only closed his eyes a few minutes ago, and winced at the ache that coiled in his spine. Sleeping on the bare stone of the Deep Roads was not a comfortable experience, to say the least.</p><p>Tanith had not been roused by the shouting, and he leaned over to nudge her shoulder.</p><p>“Wake up. We’re moving.”</p><p>She squinted at him, wrinkling her nose in irritation. “What?”</p><p>“The camp’s packing up. We have to get going.”</p><p>“Already? Oh, Maker.” Tanith sat up, rubbing her face. “Whose idea was it to come down here again?”</p><p>“Yours, if I recall.”</p><p>“Ah.” She nodded sagely. “Not one of my best.”</p><p>Tanith’s curls were all in tangles, her face smudged with dust. She grimaced as she rose to her feet, rubbing at the small of her back, then stretched long and lazy like a cat. Not entirely comfortable with how this display made him feel, Blackwall turned his attention to the rest of the encampment. The Wardens and Legionnaires were dismantling their campsite as quickly and efficiently as any regiment of soldiers he had ever seen, dousing the fires and reloading the wagons without instruction.</p><p>The moment everything had been packed away Tabris set a brisk pace, marching down the centre of the road without a single backwards glance. The Wardens followed, Blackwall and Tanith keeping a few paces behind the wagons, and the Legionnaires brought up the rear. As they walked further along the tunnel the signs of the darkspawn corruption grew, fleshy sacs that clung like limpets to the walls and huge swathes of stone gone all to blackness. Blackwall had seen this before, at broken entrances and fissures to the roads, but never on such a scale. The sight of it made his skin crawl.</p><p>When they had been walking for half an hour or so Tanith stepped closer to him, her eyes still fixed straight ahead as she spoke to him under her breath. “Hey. You should speak to him.” She nodded briefly over her shoulder.</p><p>Blackwall glanced behind them and saw Lieutenant Kamien bringing up the front of the Legionnaire procession, walking alone and away from his fellows.</p><p>“Do you think he might know something?” Blackwall asked quietly.</p><p>“Maybe,” she said. “He and Tabris were talking back in spider city. They’re friendly, I think.”</p><p>“Why me?”</p><p>Tanith frowned at him. “Oh, so it’s fine for me to make chit chat with the Hero of Ferelden but you can’t have one conversation with a dead dwarf?”</p><p>“I just don’t have the knack for these things like you do,” he said. “What would we even talk about?”</p><p>“Stabbing?” she suggested. “Wearing metal clothes? I don’t know. Make something up.” Tanith picked up her pace, moving ahead to join the other Wardens and leaving Blackwall behind.</p><p>She was right, of course. He had contributed very little to their mission since they had arrived in Orzammar, and it was probably beyond time for him to do his share. Still, speaking to the Lieutenant was not a pleasant prospect. While he knew they were ancient allies to the Wardens, Blackwall found the Legion of the Dead distinctly unsettling. The funeral rites, the dirges, the way they painted their faces to mimic the bones below; it was a discomfiting reminder of his own mortality, and one he did not welcome.</p><p>Reluctantly Blackwall slowed a little, falling back until he was walking alongside the Lieutenant. He was still trying to think of a plausible way to begin the conversation when the dwarf spoke to him.</p><p>“I don’t recognise you,” Kamien said. “Or the mage. You two new? Don’t look ready for your Calling.”</p><p>“Just visiting,” Blackwall said. “From the outpost at Val Chevin.”</p><p>The Lieutenant looked up at him, a little curiosity in his dark eyes. “Really? The Commander doesn’t get many guests from topside.”</p><p>“There were some texts in our archive she wanted,” he said. “We were sent to deliver them.”</p><p>“Oh, the books?” Kamien chuckled, a rough sound from low in his throat. “About time. She’s been trying to get her hands on them for years.”</p><p>Blackwall saw his in. “You’ve known the Warden-Commander a while, then?”</p><p>“Three, four years maybe,” he said. “Ever since they put me on grub-wrangling duty.” The Lieutenant must have seen Blackwall’s mystified expression, for he elaborated further. “It’s my job to collect the recruits when they come down to the roads.”</p><p>“I see,” he said. “My work’s not dissimilar. I recruit for the Wardens in Orlais.”</p><p>“At least you get to see yours first,” Kamien said. “I just have to take whatever stone-touched misfits they throw down at me.”</p><p>“You couldn’t go recruiting yourself?”</p><p>The Lieutenant looked at him like he was mad. “No. Once you take the rites you’re in the roads for life. Or death, more accurately. No going back.”</p><p>“Apart from Tabris,” Blackwall said, hoping that the information might get a rise from the dwarf in the way it often had in the Commons.</p><p>“She’s a special case.” Kamien looked ahead to the front of the procession, where the Warden-Commander led their party further into the darkness. “Way I see it, you kill an archdemon, you’ve pretty much earned the right to do as you damn well please.”</p><p>Clearly the Lieutenant did not find the fact that Tabris had taken her rites as ghoulish as his Orzammar fellows did. Blackwall decided to try a different approach.</p><p>“I’ve heard the corruption is spreading faster,” he said. “A mile closer to the gates in the last year.”</p><p>Kamien fixed him with a hard stare. “What’s your angle, friend?” he asked. “If you’re trying to get me to speak against the Warden-Commander then you’re shit out of luck.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean any offence,” Blackwall said, stomach sinking as he realised what a colossal misstep he had made. “I’ve just spoken to a few people in Orzammar who are concerned about it. They seem to think that Tabris is responsible. I thought…” he trailed off lamely, unable to come up with a feasible end to the sentence.</p><p>“Listen to me,” the Lieutenant said. “All the Deep Lords think they know what’s best for Orzammar, sat safe up there in their palaces. They’ve never seen what it’s like down here. They don’t know what’s coming for them. And, so long as it doesn’t arrive in their lifetime, they don’t <em> have </em> to think about it. Doesn’t change the fact that it <em> is </em> coming.” His brow furrowed, making the patterns of paint and ink on his forehead shift slightly. “Doesn’t matter if it’s in ten years, or a hundred, or a thousand. The darkspawn <em> will </em>reach Orzammar eventually. Unless they’re wiped out that won’t change. Your Commander is one of the rare few people who understands that.”</p><p>“So that’s what she’s doing?” Blackwall asked. “Trying to wipe them out?”</p><p>“She’s a Grey Warden, isn’t she?” Kamien said, his voice cold. “I thought that’s what you were all supposed to be doing.”</p><p>Blackwall sensed that the conversation was now definitively over. He made his way further along the procession, and found Tanith walking alongside one of the great channels of lava. She looked up at him expectantly as he fell into step with her.</p><p>“Well?” she said. “How did it go?”</p><p>“Badly.”</p><p>“Badly how?”</p><p>“Didn’t have a word to say against Tabris,” Blackwall said. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”</p><p>Tanith looked incredulous. “What, did you just <em> tell </em>him that we think she’s up to something?”</p><p>“Well, not in so many words—”</p><p>“Maker.” Tanith rubbed at her temples. “You’re about as subtle as a punch to the face, you know that?”</p><p>“You’re not exactly the queen of nuance yourself,” he said, scowling. “Besides. Some people appreciate candour.”</p><p>She arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that what we’re calling it?”</p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with plain speaking.”</p><p>“Oh, but does it have to be <em> so </em> plain…”</p><p>Their bickering continued as they made the long trek through the Deep Roads. It was almost comforting, falling back into this familiar patter under such dire circumstances. Blackwall could almost pretend they were on the path to Fort Astor, Tanith sniping at him relentlessly as they made the journey home.</p><p>The evidence of the darkspawn presence was more difficult to ignore, however. At one point they came across a makeshift gibbet made of broken stakes and twisted metal, the withered corpse of a dwarf suspended inside the crude cage. Their party stopped for a full half hour while Tabris and Kamien cut it down, carefully lifting the skeletal remains to the ground. They built a cairn out of rubble, protecting the body from further desecration by the horde, and Kamien said a few words over the improvised grave before they moved on. The mood turned decidedly sombre after that, and even Tanith’s sharp tongue fell silent.</p><p>The Warden-Commander’s pace was unrelenting. Apart from the brief pause to inter the remains of the dead dwarf, she did not allow their party to stop once as they journeyed onwards through the roads. Tabris turned down side passages and directed them through ruined settlements without once pausing to check a map. It was clear that she knew the tunnels like the back of her hand, and that this was a journey she had made many times before.</p><p>The absence of the sun was even more maddening in the roads than it had been in Orzammar. All of the long, straight paths were the same, all of the waystations near-identical caverns full of rubble and dust. Blackwall could not say whether they had been walking for two hours or six. The only thing that changed was the presence of the darkspawn, lurking dimly in the back of his mind. It grew with each step he took, the humming becoming louder, the prickling sensation behind his eyes almost maddening. Tanith was clearly suffering with it too, her face a grim mask of discomfort as she trudged onwards.</p><p>Then, all of a sudden, the landscape changed. Their procession passed through a gate that might once have been the twin of the octagonal door in Orzammar, this one torn to shreds of stone and steel, and entered a cavern so vast that Blackwall could not see the end of it. The ceiling was held up by statues as tall as the tower at Fort Astor, great carved dwarves reaching upwards into the darkness. This place must once have been a city unto itself, the open squares and wide walkways home to thousands upon thousands of dwarves. All gone now, and only dust remaining.</p><p>Tabris announced that they would be remaining here for a while, and at her order the Wardens began setting up camp. He and Tanith were put to work this time, the Warden-Commander clearly feeling that they had not done enough to pull their weight. Blackwall was sent with the Legion recruits to clear a site of rubble for their encampment while Tanith was ordered to go with the Wardens’ two other mages, to burn off the crawler webs and kindle lights for the evening. It was hard, dull work, though Blackwall found the honest labour oddly satisfying after their weeks of endless waiting. The cavern floor was littered with broken stone and other detritus, and it took nearly an hour to empty a space large enough for their current party.</p><p>When the camp was pitched Blackwall went to seek out Tanith. He found her sitting on the floor by one of the fire pits, examining the carvings on her staff. During their long days in the Orzammar compound he had almost completely covered it, working patterns into the wood whenever there was time. Now she ran her fingers over the grooves, smiling a little to herself as she did it.</p><p>Tanith turned around as he approached, her ears flicking straight upwards when she saw him. The gesture was familiar to Blackwall. He had seen Hywel make it hundreds of times, whenever Clement walked into a room. The implications of that were too much for him to think about, and he fought to keep his face impassive as he sat down beside her.</p><p>“Have fun lugging those rocks around?” she asked. “Nice that they finally found something befitting your skills and intelligence.”</p><p>“Doesn’t hurt to be useful,” he said. “How about you?”</p><p>“Oh, I did great.” Tanith looked up at the globes of light hanging in the air above the encampment. “That one’s mine.” She pointed to the smallest of the spheres, its illumination dim and flickering. “You know, I think I might not actually be that good at magic.”</p><p>“I’m sure that’s not true,” Blackwall said. “You just need more training, that’s all.”</p><p>“Chance would be a fine thing.” Tanith leaned back, crossing her legs at the ankle. “We have to get out of here alive first.”</p><p>“We will.” Blackwall spoke with more confidence than he felt.</p><p>“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get back to Fort Astor?” she asked.</p><p>He didn’t have to think about it. “Eat something that isn’t full of mystery ingredients,” he said. “Then sleep for a week solid. How about you?”</p><p>“I’m going to go to the steams and scrub the Deep Roads off every inch of my skin.”</p><p>There was really no way to respond to that. Blackwall shifted where he sat, giving the floor intense consideration.</p><p>A smile broke slowly over Tanith’s face, and her eyes were devilish as she looked at him. “You’re blushing,” she said. “Enjoying that image, are you?”</p><p>His face burned at her words. “I didn’t—”</p><p>“Oh, you <em> are</em>,” Tanith said, laughing. Her fire was like a candle flame now, flickering and playful. “You know, I’m not entirely sure that’s appropriate.”</p><p>“It’s really not—”</p><p>“I’m teasing.” She kicked him gently, her smile growing reassuring. “I mean, look at me. Who could blame you?”</p><p>Who indeed. He did look at her then, at the smug curve of her lip and the defiant tilt of her chin, the column of her neck as freckle-dusted as her cheeks were. Eyes the colour of pine boughs, staring straight through him. She sat loosely, one arm resting in her lap, utterly at ease. Such a contrast to the brittle, angry woman he had brought down from the gallows, and yet not; that fury was still within her, as hot and dangerous as the lava that ran through the Deep Roads, ready to erupt at any moment. Yet it was not directed at him now. He wondered when that had changed.</p><p>“Maybe we should just go,” Tanith said suddenly.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Do you get the feeling that this is pointless?” she asked. “I know what I said, but I’m not sure if finding out the truth is worth… this.” A gesture that took in the cavern, the roads, the corruption, the world. “What’s stopping us from getting up right now and heading back to Fort Astor?”</p><p>“I don’t know that I could find my way back,” he said. “If we get lost we’re trapped down here forever.”</p><p>Tanith shuddered. “Alright, good point. Nice to think about though, isn’t it?”</p><p>“That it is.”</p><p>“I was wondering— <em> ah</em>!” She cried out suddenly, clutching at her head.</p><p>Blackwall didn’t need to ask what was wrong. He felt it too, the sudden swell of the hum, a fierce awareness that crackled through his skull. The darkspawn were close, and rapidly moving closer.</p><p>Every Warden in the cavern rose immediately to their feet, and seeing this the Legionnaires followed them. Tabris barked orders, and the party’s warriors fell into ranks around her. The archers and mages stayed back, preparing to loose their first shots.</p><p>“They’re here, aren’t they?” Tanith asked, knuckles white where she gripped her staff.</p><p>“They are,” he said. “Stay back from the lines. Don’t let them get close to you.”</p><p>She looked half-sick, but nodded anyway. “Be careful.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>Blackwall joined the group of Wardens standing near the centre of the cavern, adding his shield to the line. They were facing out towards one of the tunnels, from which a distant shrieking could already be heard. The discordant hum sat behind the wild pounding of his heart, filling his head with its terrible refrain. His brothers-in-arms stood poised, stone-faced, their eyes fixed on the darkness.</p><p>And then they came. The darkspawn burst from the tunnel like insects flooding from beneath a rotting log, hundreds of them, sprinting out towards the encampment with unnatural speed. Blackwall didn’t have a chance to think before the first ones were upon them, and he smashed his shield into the skull of a tall hurlock before stepping in to join the fray.</p><p>He had fought darkspawn before, dozens of times, but always in the scattered groups that convened at the surface, always under the open sky. Here, in their domain, it was different. They were unrelenting and endless, a swarm of withered limbs and wicked blades and empty, hollow eyes, screaming as they lashed wildly at the living. Blackwall kept his shield up, protecting himself from the onslaught, swinging his sword in wide arcs to take down as many of the creatures as possible. The darkspawn climbed over the corpses of the fallen without hesitation, pressing ever forwards. The Wardens' line was splintering already, some of the creatures breaking through and heading towards those attacking at range.</p><p>A hail of arrows flew through the air, precise shots that pierced throats and eyes and breastplates, the barrage felling enough darkspawn that the melee fighters were able to regroup and press their advantage. Blackwall was standing less than twenty feet from the Warden-Commander, and he watched as she charged into the centre of the maelstrom.</p><p>Blackwall had known soldiers who fought like dancers. Warriors who moved like acrobats, dueled like artists, made music with their blades. In the army he had seen the finesse of warriors well-trained, their warfare polished from years of craftsmanship.</p><p>Tabris was the opposite of those men. Tabris fought like a butcher.</p><p>The Legionnaires stayed as far away from darkspawn as combat allowed, swinging their weapons in wide arcs lest they be exposed to the corruption the creatures carried. Even the Wardens, who had nothing to fear from the taint, kept their distance when they could. The Warden-Commander did not. She <em> threw </em> herself at the creatures, lashing out with her shield and pommel and boots as often as her blade, hacking the darkspawn to pieces as though they were vines in a forest. Blackwall had never seen anything so ugly, so brutally effective. Tabris would cut one foe down and kick its body back into is fellows, then rush in to drive her blade through more sickened flesh. She cried out as she fought, a wordless, guttural sound that cut across the chamber.</p><p>As Blackwall watched she turned towards a shambling hurlock, its wicked blade raised high. He saw how she ran for it, lunging at its throat, teeth bared and white in the dimness, but the tide of battle had carried him away before he could see what happened next.</p><p>Blackwall found himself fighting alongside the Legionnaires, their heavy armour keeping them well-protected from the makeshift weapons of the darkspawn. They put down the creatures with a vicious efficiency, their ranks hardly faltering as they faced the onslaught. One of the creatures managed to get its hands around the neck of a recruit, but before it could do any damage it went limp, open throat spraying blood as it dropped to the ground. Kamien appeared behind it, daggers black with ichor, then darted back into the shadows.</p><p>Blackwall had just dispatched three of the creatures who were attempting to get round the flank when he heard a high, familiar yelp. He turned to see Tanith flat on her back at the edge of the cavern, a squat genlock clawing up her leg with its talons. She had her staff in her hand and was smashing it into the creature’s skull, but this did little to slow it. Blackwall sprinted over and kicked the thing away from her, then brought his sword down in a clean arc that all but severed the genlock’s head from its shoulders.</p><p>Tanith scowled at him as he hauled her back to her feet.</p><p>“I had it!” she snapped, unable to hide the quaver in her voice.</p><p>“Get the next one,” he said. “Watch out, there.”</p><p>She span on her heel and sent a bolt of energy sailing towards an approaching hurlock, freezing it where it stood. One of the Legion recruits ran over to attack the ice-covered darkspawn with his maul, shattering it into pieces.</p><p>The creatures were still pressing forward. Several of the warriors had dropped back, injured, and the front line was close to breaking. Blackwall turned to Tanith, giving her a serious look.</p><p>“Will you be alright?”</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Go kill things. Try not to die.”</p><p>He hesitated for a moment, then nodded and ran back to the fray. For a while there was nothing but the clash of blades on armour, the mist of blood in the air, the mingled cries from both sides of the battle. As his stamina began to fail him Blackwall dropped into a defensive stance, more concerned with staying alive than pushing onward. Tabris was where the fighting was thickest, cutting the darkspawn down like she was threshing wheat, her scarred face dripping ichor. The creatures’ numbers were dwindling now, with only a scattered handful of them still standing. It seemed like they might get through this particular battle mostly unscathed.</p><p>The thought came too soon. Blackwall felt a white line of pain blossom across his sword arm, and lost his grip on the hilt of his weapon as the nerves there went numb. He turned to see a tall hurlock with its blade raised to strike, armour shining gold beneath the gore. When it swung at him he barely raised his shield in time, stumbling backwards from the force of the blow. As he was recovering the hurlock lashed out again, its curved blade catching his arm a second time, slicing through flesh and hitting bone. Blackwall heard a rumble of laughter in its throat, deep and awful. Then the sound was cut short as it choked, blood seeping through the slits in its visor. It twitched before dropping to the ground. Tabris stood there, sword in hand, eyes wild and jaw clenched as she looked at Blackwall.</p><p>“Fall back if you can’t fight,” she barked. “Get out of the way.” Then she turned and ran back towards the frontline, where the tide had turned in the Wardens’ favour.</p><p>Blackwall gritted his teeth as he limped towards the back of the cavern, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side. Blood trickled down to drip from the ends of his fingers. There was a lot of it, enough to make him lightheaded, enough to be dangerous in time. He risked a glance at the wound. The hurlock’s blade had sliced through just below his pauldron, cutting deep and splitting open the armour around it. It was not a clean blow either, the flesh torn and ragged at the edges.</p><p>He found a spot away from the fighting and sat heavily on the bare stone, watching as the Wardens and Legionnaires made swift work of the handful of darkspawn that remained. The battle was over, at least. He need not worry about being killed by one of the creatures while he was busy bleeding to death.</p><p>There was a quiet, truncated gasp from somewhere nearby, and a moment later Tanith was running across the cavern. She dropped to her knees in front of him, the colour draining from her face as she looked at his injured arm.</p><p>“Shit,” she said. “You’re hurt.”</p><p>“A bit,” he said.</p><p>Tanith scowled at him. “Shut up. You are. And it’s bad.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded stiffly. “Give it an hour and it will be.”</p><p>“I—” she said, then stopped. This was the first time that Blackwall had ever seen her look genuinely scared, eyes wide and ears flat against her skull. Tanith chewed on her lip before speaking. “I’m no good at healing. I’ve done it on myself a few times, but nothing like that.” She nodded to the wound on his arm, which was now throbbing with pain.</p><p>“Could you try?” he asked. There was a sharp quality to the ache that was beginning to worry him. The darkspawn often coated their weapons in poison, he knew, and it wouldn’t surprise him if there was something toxic making its way into his bloodstream already.</p><p>“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “It might hurt you more. What if I get it wrong? What if I—”</p><p>“Tanith.” Blackwall took her hand in his, squeezed it tightly. He knew that his words were inadequate, knew that she found him inexpressive and difficult to read, but he put every shred of sincerity he felt into his voice regardless. “I trust you,” he said “Alright? I trust you.”</p><p>For a moment she just looked at him. Then she pressed her lips together and nodded, moving her hands over to his arm.</p><p>“Okay,” she said, letting out a long breath. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”</p><p>Tanith closed her eyes as she concentrated on her magic, her brow furrowing slightly in the middle. At first nothing happened. For half a minute they sat there, still as statues, waiting. Then Tanith’s hands began to glow with a soft blue light, and Blackwall felt his flesh mend itself under her touch. It was a profoundly strange sensation. He watched as the wound expelled a trickle of something dark and evil-looking before closing, the flesh knitting slowly together again.</p><p>Once it was finished Tanith opened one eye, peering hesitantly at her handiwork, then let out a long sigh when she saw the healing had been successful. Blackwall flexed his fingers, pleased that whatever magic she had used seemed to have repaired the damage to his nerves as well.</p><p>“Thank the Maker,” she breathed. “You know there was about a fifty-fifty chance of me tearing your arm off, right?”</p><p>“But you didn’t.”</p><p>“No. I didn’t.”</p><p>Tanith laughed, high and a little manic, then slumped forward with relief. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her breath against his skin impossibly warm. Blackwall remained motionless, not daring to touch her, certain that if he moved she would turn away.</p><p>As they sat there he looked up and saw Tabris staring towards them. It was hard to tell behind the blood and ash and scar tissue, but there was something almost mournful about her expression. Then the Warden-Commander turned away, walking back to where her men were regrouping.</p><p>“Well,” Tanith said, sitting up straight again. “I’ve done battle with darkspawn in the Deep Roads. That’s got to be worth a promotion, right?”</p><p>“I don’t know if I’d call beating them around the head with a stick ‘doing battle’.”</p><p>“Hey,” she frowned. “I killed some. At <em> least </em>two.”</p><p>Blackwall chuckled. “That’s still more than some at Fort Astor.”</p><p>“I think I’m starting to understand what she means though,” Tanith said quietly. “Imagine a million of those things on the surface.” Her gaze wandered over to Tabris. “She doesn’t have to imagine. She’s seen it.”</p><p>“She has,” Blackwall said. “Makes you wonder what she’s willing to do to stop it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. And They Stood As Equals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith had never thought much about battle. It was not a situation she had expected to find herself in, fighting alongside soldiers, using her magic openly to attack an enemy. One thing she had never considered was the aftermath. Given the darkspawn numbers their own losses had been minimal, but watching the Legionnaires and Wardens dragging the fallen away from the battlefield was still a disturbing experience. As with the dwarf in the gibbet, the comrades of the fallen piled rocks over their bodies, protecting them from interference by the horde. Tanith kept her distance as they mourned, knowing that this was not for her to share. She had not known these people, had not even known their names. The others had lost friends, companions, brothers in arms. For them this was true grief.</p><p>Instead she and Blackwall helped some of the other Wardens carry out the dirty work of moving the darkspawn corpses. At first Tanith didn’t understand why it was worth doing — the dead could simply rot in the cavern, after all — but Blackwall explained that the creatures’ tainted flesh was still a threat to the Legionnaires. While the Wardens were immune to the taint, those they travelled with were not. Growing sick with the Blight and going through the slow, agonising process of becoming a ghoul was no proud death for a warrior. So they dragged the withered bodies to the edge of a nearby lava channel and rolled them in, letting the molten rock swallow them.</p><p>While the darkspawn corpses held no threat to her, Tanith still flinched with revulsion every time she had to touch one. Hollow eyes, skin like leather, rows of jagged teeth, claws where fingers should be. They made her sick to look at. She remembered what Tabris had told her, about how the horde stole women into the roads to breed. When the genlock had grabbed hold of her during the battle she had known a moment of perfect and total fear, certain that this was its intention. Every time she thought of it she shuddered.</p><p>By the time all of the darkspawn had been cleared from the chamber Tanith was exhausted, sweating profusely and aching from head to toe. While this was only their second time camping since arriving in the Deep Roads, she was sure that the ‘days’ down here were longer than those on the surface, and that she had in fact been awake for more time than her body could cope with. When no one was looking she took a ladle of water from a barrel in the corner of the campsite, knowing that rations were limited but not finding it within herself to care. She washed the gore from her hands and face as best she could, certain that after their encounter with the creatures she would never feel clean again.</p><p>The battle had not ranged as far as the encampment and everything was still mercifully intact. Once the cavern was clear and the mourning was done the party returned in ones and twos, trickling back to sit silently around the fires. The quiet gave the atmosphere an oppressive edge, leaving Tanith feeling jittery and restless. She wanted to be aboveground again, wanted to breathe air that didn’t smell of dust and brimstone, wanted to feel the sun on her face and the breeze on her skin. It was one thing for the dwarves, who had lived underground their entire lives and knew nothing else. What Tanith couldn’t understand was how Tabris, born and raised in the world above, had been able to stand spending a decade of her life down here.</p><p>The Warden-Commander sat at the far edge of the camp now, staring out into the darkness as she had the night before. Ever-still, ever-vigilant. Kamien joined her after a while, bringing a bowl of the thin pottage that had been that night’s supper. Tabris accepted it but, as far as Tanith could see, made no move to eat. In fact, Tanith was certain that she hadn’t seen the Warden-Commander eat once during their journey. Perhaps her zealotry alone was enough to sustain her.</p><p>After a while the quiet tension in the chamber began to grate on her. She and Blackwall were sharing a fire with a dozen Legion recruits, and she spoke quietly as she nudged him in the ribs.</p><p>“Shall we get out of here for a while?”</p><p>Blackwall looked around them. “And go where?”</p><p>“I hear there’s a nice little restaurant over by the ancient skeletons,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Where do you think? To another part of the creepy ruin. Just… not here.” Tanith eyed the circle of dour Legionnaires.</p><p>“Alright,” he said. “Lead the way.”</p><p>Tanith wandered away from the encampment, keeping as far as possible from the tunnels where the darkspawn had emerged earlier. The hum had quieted to almost nothing now, but still she didn’t entirely trust that another wave of the things wouldn’t come spilling into the chamber at any second.</p><p>They walked idly around the shells of ancient structures, circumventing huge piles of fallen masonry and great cracks in the stone floor. Tanith tried to imagine what this place must have been like before the Blights came, undamaged and full of life, home to thousands. But every time she pictured it all she could see was the darkspawn swarming from the stone like a kicked-over anthill, killing and corrupting everything they touched.</p><p>Eventually they came upon a building that was half-standing, little more than a shell but still possessing recognisable features. Tanith walked through what might have once been a door, or could just be a hole in the stonework, and let her eyes wander around the interior. There were still a few traces of habitation here and there. A broken pot, a wooden chest rotted to almost nothing, the remains of something like a shop counter. She ran her fingers over the last, leaving thin lines in the dust.</p><p>“Is everything alright?” Blackwall asked. He was standing near the wall of the ruined building, a touch of concern in his eyes.</p><p>“I’m fine,” she said. “This is just… a lot to take in.”</p><p>“That’s putting it mildly.”</p><p>“At least you’re used to this,” Tanith said. “A season ago I was hawking rags to the fripperer and eating whatever scraps the butcher couldn’t sell. I wasn’t expecting to wind up a Grey Warden, let alone anything else.”</p><p>“I think that’s a fairly universal experience for new recruits,” Blackwall said. “There’s not many people plan on joining the Wardens.”</p><p>“And how many recruits get sent straight down to the Deep Roads?”</p><p>“Fair point,” he admitted. “I wasn’t exactly expecting this either. I’ve half a mind to give Margot an earful when we get back.”</p><p>“Now that I’d like to see,” she grinned. “What are you going to tell her about me, anyway?”</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>“Come off it,” Tanith said. “I know she lumped us together so you could report back on my conduct.” She rolled her eyes. “See if I’m behaving like a proper Grey Warden yet.”</p><p>“Well,” he said, clearly selecting his words carefully. “I imagine I’ll tell her that you’ve been an asset. You’ve been a damn sight more use than I have down here. That’ll count for something.”</p><p>“Then what?” she asked. “What happens when Margot decides I’m no longer a liability to the order?”</p><p>“You’ll be allowed to complete your training, I imagine. Then you’ll be given another assignment.”</p><p>“Oh.” Tanith stood there for a moment, leaning up against the dusty counter. “So no more recruitment?”</p><p>“Probably not, no.”</p><p>“Right. Good.” She forced a smile. “Can’t wait.”</p><p>They looked at one another for a long moment, dust motes floating between them in the dim light. Tanith wasn’t sure why a hard knot of disappointment had settled in her stomach, why the prospect of reassignment suddenly seemed unappealing when a few weeks ago she had all but begged for it.</p><p>She was still conscious of Blackwall’s pale eyes on her, and she tried to ignore the flush of heat that rose in her throat. When they had first met she had thought him insufferable, another shem with inscrutable ears and piggish manners. But now she found him… Tanith searched for the right word, and settled on <em> interesting</em>. Yes, that was right. The way he spoke to her was <em> interesting</em>, how he could quarrel with her one moment and listen attentively the next. It <em> interested </em> her that he was different from the men she had known in the alienage, broader and taller and rougher at the edges. It raised <em> interesting </em> questions. He was <em> interesting </em>to her.</p><p>Besides, if he was to be believed — and for some reason Tanith felt that she could — he trusted her. That was interesting, too.</p><p>Perhaps she did know the source of the disappointment after all. Tanith watched Blackwall watching her, and after a moment her face twisted into a scowl.</p><p>“Did you get hit on the head during the battle?” she said. “You look concussed.”</p><p>“Always flattery with you, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Just observing.”</p><p>Tanith ran her fingers through her hair. She <em> hated </em>this place. All this death, the evidence of it everywhere she turned. Always her life had been about survival, about doing whatever it took to stay breathing for another day. The Deep Roads were a tomb, and every minute she remained there was anathema to her.</p><p>How easy it would be to cross the room, to remind herself that she was alive.</p><p>“We should go,” she said instead. “Might as well at least try to get some sleep.”</p><p>Blackwall didn’t argue. They returned to the encampment in silence, finding a place near the fire to rest their heads for the night. Tanith used her pack as a makeshift pillow, fidgeting as the buckles and straps pressed uncomfortably into her cheek. The fires were burning low now, the magelights above growing dim, and most of their party had already retired to their tents to rest. Tanith closed her eyes and attempted to find sleep, but it proved elusive. Instead she lay there, trying to ignore the distant hum of the horde, trying to ignore the secrets her heart was threatening to spill.</p><p>She was still awake several hours later when she heard movement from somewhere in the encampment. Opening her eyes a crack, she saw a figure leave one of the tents and step quietly towards the ruins. As the shape moved past a dim fire Tanith saw a flash of red hair, a sliver of gnarled flesh. Tabris.</p><p>Tanith glanced at Blackwall, saw him sleeping soundly a few feet away from her. No time to wake him. Instead she watched as Tabris moved away from the camp, keeping the backs of the sentries to her, and stole away into the further reaches of the cavern. Once she was certain she would not be seen Tanith stood, creeping carefully along the path the Warden-Commander had taken. Hywel had shown her a small glamour once, a way to gather the shadows around oneself, and Tanith did so now. She breathed in her magic and pulled gently at the edges of the world, wrapping herself in darkness like a cloak.</p><p>Tabris left the cavern through a narrow side passage, and Tanith kept close to the wall as she followed. She stayed as far behind the Warden-Commander as she could without losing sight of her, glad of the dimness of the tunnel. The path wound through the rock, its twists and turns so inconsistent that Tanith was certain that no living thing had built it. Signs of the darkspawn corruption were thick here, covering the walls and floor, its foulness a constant presence. Tanith fought back a wave of revulsion when she placed her feet and felt its fleshy texture give slightly beneath her, trying to be grateful for the way it muffled her steps.</p><p>She noticed that Tabris had something slung over her shoulder, a large leather pack that she held firm with one hand as she walked. Tanith desperately wanted to take a closer look, but did not dare to move any further forward. Her muscles were already tense with fear, her pulse racing at her throat. Behind it all was the hum. The presence of the darkspawn itched at the back of her mind as she followed the Warden-Commander through the tunnel, growing more pronounced with every step. Part of her wanted to call out, to tell Tabris that they were approaching the horde, but she knew such a warning would be useless. As the more experienced Grey Warden, Tabris certainly knew what lay ahead. Yet still she carried on, her pace steady as she traversed the narrow passageway.</p><p>They had been walking for fifteen minutes or so when Tanith began to regret her decision. She had not brought her staff with her, had told no one where she had gone. Whatever Tabris was doing, it was certainly not something she had intended anyone else to see. Tanith tried not to think about what would happen if the Warden-Commander caught her spying, how easy it would be to dispose of her body down here in the darkened labyrinth. For a moment Tanith considered turning around, going back to the campsite and pretending that none of this had happened, but she knew that she could not. She was getting close now, close to the truth, close to their reason for coming down to this Maker-forsaken crypt in the first place. It was unthinkable to turn back now. If Tanith were to die, at the hands of the Commander or the horde, she would do so with her curiosity satisfied.</p><p>As Tabris turned another corner the buzzing in Tanith’s skull grew to a crescendo, and she had to bite back a cry of pain and fear. She saw the passage ahead open out into a large room and dropped down into a crouch, peering out from behind a jutting shelf of rock.</p><p>What she saw there made her heart stop for a moment. The chamber Tabris had entered seemed to be some kind of mausoleum, the cavities in its stone walls full of carved sarcophagi. A dim light came from a source Tanith could not see, throwing long shadows of the people who lined the edges of the room.</p><p>No, not people. Darkspawn.</p><p>There were dozens of them, tall armoured hurlocks and short, squat genlocks, several evil-looking creatures with long snouts that Tanith recognised as shrieks. They made quiet hissing sounds in their throats as they stood there, empty eyes staring at the Warden-Commander as she walked into their midst. Tanith clenched her muscles, waiting for the darkspawn to lunge forward and attack, but they did not move. Instead they dropped their heads low as Tabris passed them, in a gesture that seemed almost like fear, or perhaps even respect.</p><p>Tanith tried to keep her breathing silent and steady as she watched Tabris come to a halt in the centre of the chamber. The Warden-Commander was angled slightly away from Tanith’s hiding place, leaving only her blind eye and ruined ear visible. Small mercies. It was unlikely that she would notice anything amiss— though, Tanith supposed with a shiver, the darkspawn might.</p><p>There was a long, pregnant pause as Tabris stood in the mausoleum, the creatures’ low hissing echoing from the walls. Then a figure moved forward, almost floating, its skeletal frame draped in gold and scraps of cloth. Tanith remembered something from Odette’s lessons, and a word came to her unbidden; <em> emissary</em>. The mages of the darkspawn, who often led the horde in their battles. This one was a hurlock, she thought, from its height, though a crooked mask covered most of its face from view.</p><p>“Commander.”</p><p>Tanith froze. If she had not seen it with her own eyes, she would not have believed it. The emissary <em> spoke </em>. It’s voice was deep and breathy, a death rattle of a sound. It had never occurred to her that darkspawn could talk. She had always thought them mindless creatures, monsters who knew only violence and bloodlust. Yet this one spoke quietly, almost softly.</p><p>“We were attacked,” Tabris said sharply. “What happened?”</p><p>The emissary hung his head. “Our attempts to seize the crossroads were unsuccessful,” it said. “There was not enough time to warn you.”</p><p>“No matter.” The Warden-Commander’s voice was tired. “Here.”</p><p>She unslung the satchel from her shoulder and removed something from inside it. Tanith squinted in the dim light and recognised the box she had seen that day in the compound office, the one containing vials of blood. Tabris unlatched it and held it open for the emissary to see.</p><p>“You bring less than last time,” it said, almost whispering.</p><p>“I have been otherwise engaged.” Tabris snapped the lid shut. A genlock shuffled towards her and she handed her the box down to it, never taking her eyes off the emissary. “And you? What of your part?”</p><p>The emissary reached into its robe with a claw-like hand and drew out a roll of parchment. It held the scroll out to Tabris and she took it eagerly, almost hungrily, opening it up to examine.</p><p>“These are the dig sites?” she asked, a note of excitement in her voice. “All of them?”</p><p>“Not all,” the emissary said. “Only the ones I could locate safely. There will be many more in the trenches.”</p><p>“It’s something, at least.” Tanith rolled up the parchment and placed it inside the satchel. “What of your other work?”</p><p>The darkspawn made a strange gesture, pushing out its hollow chest. There was something oddly prideful about the movement. “The awakened hold what remains of Amgarrak. Their numbers grow, with your assistance.”</p><p>“Good,” Tabris said. “I'll come sooner next time, if I can.”</p><p>She moved as if to turn away, but the emissary spoke again. “And you?” it asked. “How do you fare?”</p><p>A long pause. “Much the same.” The Warden-Commander’s voice was small and tight. “Nothing will slow it. I have made my peace.”</p><p>The darkspawn’s thin face creased behind its mask, the expression so human that it made Tanith feel dizzy for a moment. “I am sorry, old friend.”</p><p>“My vows were taken,” Tabris said, “and I do not require your sympathy. I must go.”</p><p>Tanith’s heart, which had been pounding from the moment she left the encampment, now lurched in her chest. She had been able to keep from sight when the Warden-Commander’s back was to her, but would certainly be caught if moving ahead of her. Before Tabris could turn around Tanith hurried back the way they had come, moving as quickly as stealth would allow, then broke into a run when she was sure the Commander would not hear her. She raced down the twisting passage, lungs burning in protest, praying silently that her presence had not been noted.</p><p>Once she was back in the cavern she slipped into the shadows again, not wanting the sentries to see from whence she had come. She took a long route back to the encampment, climbing over ruined buildings and stepping through piles of rubble, making a slow circle around the distant firelight.</p><p>As she crept through the chamber she turned over all she had seen, trying to make sense of it. The Warden-Commander could speak to the darkspawn, was <em> bargaining </em> with them. Bringing them blood. This, she was certain, was what Blackwall’s friend had uncovered, was the reason why the old Warden had abandoned his Calling to die of exposure on the surface. Tanith herself wanted nothing more than to run, and was sure that she too would rather take her chances in the Frostbacks than she would with the Warden-Commander.</p><p><em> Old friend</em>, the emissary had called her. Maker, how long had Tabris been coming down here? How many times had she delivered blood to the horde?</p><p>Still resisting the urge to bolt, Tanith tiptoed quietly back to the campsite and knelt down next to where Blackwall slept. She gripped his shoulders, shaking him as firmly as she could without waking any of the Legionnaires who slept nearby.</p><p>“Blackwall,” she hissed. “Wake up. Wake <em> up</em>.”</p><p>He stirred, his forehead creasing as he blinked into consciousness. When he opened his eyes he smiled at her, the expression so honest and artless that for a moment Tanith forgot herself. She shook her head to clear it, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.</p><p>“Listen to me,” she whispered urgently. “I know what's happening.”</p><p>“What?” Blackwall’s voice was thick with sleep.</p><p>“I followed her. Tabris. I saw what she’s doing down here.”</p><p>He frowned, suddenly serious. "Tell me.”</p><p>Tanith opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak a shadow moved on the far side of the cavern. She looked up and saw Tabris returning to the encampment, the light from the campfire catching the metal of her armour. When she was almost at her tent the Warden-Commander paused, her uninjured ear swivelling wildly. Listening.</p><p>Tanith lowered herself down to the stone floor as slowly as she could manage, gesturing Blackwall to silence. Keeping her eyes open just a crack, she watched as Tabris turned and ducked through the flap of her tent. A moment later the sentries got up to switch their posts, approaching the campsite to wake those who would take the next shift.</p><p>“I can’t talk now,” Tanith whispered, still mimicking sleep. “Not where someone might hear.”</p><p>“But you—”</p><p>“Shh,” she said, not opening her eyes. “It can wait.”</p><p>“If you’re sure.”</p><p>“I am.” Tanith shifted closer to him, pitching her voice as low as she was able. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow,” she said. “And then we run.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>just wanted to say a little hello and a big thank you to everyone who has read this far! your lovely comments have kept me going the past couple of weeks and it really means the world to me</p><p>we're about 3 chapters from the end now, so thanks for sticking around! i'm @filthyknifeear on tumblr and @elfthirst on twitter if you want to come say hi</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. By Hubris Of Their Making</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please check out <a href="https://twitter.com/foolsflyingship/status/1268570279032348674">this amazing cover art</a> for All Souls that I had commissioned from my wonderful talented friend</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith was asleep when Blackwall woke. She tossed and turned where she lay, dark rings bruising her eyes, and despite the revelations of the previous night he could not bear to wake her. Allowing her a few minutes more rest would not change anything. If her assertion was true, and they did have to run, whether it was now or later made no difference. Their chances of survival were likely the same.</p><p>The chamber was already buzzing with activity. The Legionnaires were packing away their part of the campsite, the Wardens helping them load the supply wagons and douse some of the fires. They left their own tents intact. It seemed that their paths were diverging here, the Legion heading deeper into the roads while they remained in the ruined city. Blackwall wondered if this was for the best. It was clear where the Legion’s loyalties lay, and if he and Tanith did need to escape the Warden-Commander’s clutches he would rather do so without the dwarven soldiers at her side.</p><p>Tabris herself was at the edge of the campsite, speaking to Lieutenant Kamien. The cookfire was near to where they were standing, and Blackwall moved closer to them under the guise of helping himself to breakfast.</p><p>“—think you’ll get there this time?” Tabris was saying.</p><p>“Hard to know,” Kamien shrugged. “Sometimes the way is almost clear, sometimes it’s crawling. Last time we lost half the grubs before we got to the trenches.”</p><p>“I’m sorry. I’ll bring a bigger force when I come next, I swear it. It’s been too long since we had a decent raid.”</p><p>“You missing the thrill of battle, Tabris?”</p><p>She laughed, the sound so odd coming from her throat that it took Blackwall a moment to recognise it for what it was. “Maybe. I have some ideas about where we could hit. If Dace hasn’t swayed the Assembly by then I’ll have a full contingent down next month.”</p><p>“Wow.” The Lieutenant seemed genuinely surprised. “And if he does?”</p><p>“Then we come down anyway,” Tabris said. “One way or another. I’ll not have the deshyrs push us back to the surface. Not while I’m breathing.” Her voice was as sharp and brittle as broken glass.</p><p>“Steady.” Kamien put his hand on her arm. “One day at a time.”</p><p>She nodded, the motion stiff. “I know. I know.”</p><p>The Lieutenant looked over his shoulder to where the Legionnaires were assembling, falling into ranks behind the wagons. “Shit. I should get going. Want to get to the crossroads before we make camp again.”</p><p>“Be careful,” Tabris said quickly. “It’s bad down there.”</p><p>“Really?” he asked. “You can sense that from here?”</p><p>“Call it a hunch.”</p><p>“We’ll keep our eyes open.” Kamien looked up at her, grasping her wrist above the gauntlet. “Until next time, salroka,” he said. “Look after yourself.”</p><p>Tabris gripped his arm tightly. “You too.”</p><p>The dwarf gave a wry laugh, shaking his head. “We talk a lot of talk for corpses, don’t we?” The he walked back over to his men, pulling the visor of his helmet down as he called orders to the recruits.</p><p>Tabris left too. The three Wardens who were heading for their Calling had joined the Legion ranks, ready to depart for the trenches. For their deaths. As Blackwall watched the Warden-Commander spoke to each of them in turn, shaking their hands firmly. The older Wardens’ faces were grave, resigned. Blackwall wondered whether he would go to meet his own Calling with such stoicism, when the time came. Assuming he managed to live that long. Assuming he managed to live through the day.</p><p>Tanith was awake when he returned to their campsite, looking anxiously at the departing Legion. When she saw him she sprang to her feet, her hand clasped tightly around her staff.</p><p>“Quick,” she said. “Come with me.”</p><p>She led him away from the campsite, glancing over her shoulder to the Warden-Commander every few seconds. The Legion had departed now, leaving only the Orzammar Wardens in the chamber, and the place felt quiet and hollow without them. When they reached one of the massive statues that held the cavern ceiling up Tanith dragged Blackwall behind it, her grip tight on his arm.</p><p>“What happened last night?” he asked. “What did you see?”</p><p>“I don’t know where to start.” Tanith’s voice was uncharacteristically small. Whatever she had witnessed must have scared her senseless. “Tabris left the camp last night. I followed her.”</p><p>“You know that was incredibly stupid, don’t you?” Blackwall said, his words coming out harsher than he had intended.</p><p>Tanith clenched her jaw. “We can talk about my incredible stupidity another time,” she said. “She went through one of the side passages. Ended up in this room full of darkspawn.”</p><p>“Maker, how is she still alive? How are <em> you</em>?”</p><p>“They didn’t attack,” Tanith said. “They just stood there, Blackwall, it was like they were afraid of her. And there was an emissary… it <em> talked </em> to her.”</p><p>Blackwall’s blood went to ice. <em> She spoke and it spoke back</em>. He remembered Harrin’s words, the horror on the old Warden's face. This was what he had seen, what had driven him out of the Deep Roads. “What did it say?”</p><p>“Well, I know what she’s doing with the blood.” Tanith laughed, a shrill sound with no mirth in it. “She gave it to the darkspawn. It gave her something back, a map I think. They’re working with each other. That’s why she comes down here so often. That’s what she’s doing.”</p><p>For a moment all Blackwall could do was stand there, the enormity of what Tanith had told him still sinking in. He would think her cracked, driven mad by the long weeks without sunlight, were it not for how closely her story matched with what little Harrin had been able to tell him. Tabris was in league with the darkspawn. It had been bad enough when he had thought her a tyrant, perhaps a maleficar. But this was something different. Something worse. If Tabris was allied with the Wardens’ sworn foe, she was not merely dangerous. She could spell the end of the world itself.</p><p>“Maker, fucking <em> say something</em>,” Tanith said, tightening her grip on his arm. “What do we do now? We have to run, don’t we?”</p><p>“We do,” he said. “If we can get back to Val Chevin—”</p><p>“But <em> how</em>?” she hissed. “Do you know the way out of the Deep Roads?”</p><p>“I don’t,” Blackwall admitted. “But what’s the alternative?” He thought about this for a moment. “I suppose we could stay with the expedition. They’ll go back to Orzammar eventually.”</p><p>“No.” Tanith’s voice was firm. “I’d rather take my chances. If we can sense the horde we can stay away from them, right? You can get us out of here. If you can find your way over half of the Orlesian countryside you can navigate a fucking <em> road</em>, surely?”</p><p>“I can try,” he said. “Do you have everything you need?”</p><p>“We’ve got no water,” she said. “No food. We should try and sneak some out before—”</p><p>Tanith was interrupted by a sharp, loud whistle from somewhere nearby. Blackwall turned in time to see one of the other Wardens melt out of the shadows behind the pillar, his hollow eyes glinting. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?</p><p>The man was tall, wearing the garb of a hunter, and he didn’t take his eyes off Blackwall and Tanith as he called across the chamber. “Commander!”</p><p>“Oh, fuck.” Tanith’s voice was tiny, her fingers vice-like around Blackwall’s arm. “Oh fuck oh <em> fuck</em>.”</p><p>Tabris had turned from the encampment at the call, and was now making her way across the chamber towards them. Blackwall felt Tanith tense beside him, ready to bolt, but before she could move the tall Warden had nocked an arrow and aimed it straight at her chest.</p><p>“Don’t move,” he said. “Not a muscle.”</p><p>By that time the Warden-Commander had reached them, and was frowning as she looked from the archer to Tanith. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Your guests from Orlais have been sneaking around,” the archer said. “Seeing things they shouldn’t.”</p><p>“What sort of things?” The Commander’s voice was ice.</p><p>Drawn by the commotion, the other Wardens now approached from the camp, several of them putting their hards to their weapons when they saw their comrade with his bow drawn. Oghren came to stand in his usual position at the Commander’s heel, battleaxe gripped menacingly at his side.</p><p>The silence stretched out for what felt like forever. Blackwall risked a glance at Tanith, saw the defiance in her eyes as she stared Tabris down.</p><p>“I saw you speak to the darkspawn,” Tanith said. “I saw you give them <em> blood</em>.” She almost shouted the last, ensuring that the other Wardens would hear.</p><p>If she had been expecting some kind of response, none was forthcoming. They stood impassively behind their Commander, poised and ready to draw their weapons, faces as eerily still as always. The realisation dawned on Blackwall with nauseating slowness. They knew. They all knew.</p><p>“What did I tell you?” Tabris spoke in a voice no louder than a whisper. “I made it perfectly clear that such things were not your concern. That your task was to learn the nature of your enemy—”</p><p>“Your <em> enemy</em>?” Blackwall said. “You’re striking bargains with those creatures and you have the nerve to call them the enemy?”</p><p>“Do not speak of things you do not understand!” Tabris spat the words in his direction, her body a hard line of tension. “I know more of the darkspawn than you will <em> ever </em>comprehend. Do not presume to speak to me of our enemy. I have looked into the eyes of Urthemiel. No soul living understands better than I.” She was shaking now, spasmodic tremors that came over her in fits and starts.</p><p>“Then what were you doing with the emissary?” Tanith asked quietly. “I know what I saw.”</p><p>“Why should I tell you?” Tabris said. “So you can return to Perchet and share all you know? So they can send Weisshaupt to purge me for good? No.” She moved her hand to her hip, drawing her sword in one fluid movement. “No, this cannot stand. We must all make sacrifices for the order. The time for yours has come.”</p><p>As Tabris took a step towards them the other Wardens followed. They moved like a pack of wolves, hungry-eyed and ready for the kill. As Blackwall drew his own blade Tanith finally let go of his arm, stepping back and levelling her staff at the Warden-Commander. He looked at her, the fierce determination in her eyes, the way she planted her feet firmly on the ground even as her hands shook. A wave of regret washed over him; that he had not fought harder to keep her away from this mission, that she would not reach her potential as a Warden, that they would never again lock horns on some long road. Tanith deserved better than this, better than dying forgotten and unmourned in this place below the earth.</p><p>So rapid was the beating of his heart that Blackwall didn’t notice the notice the growing hum at first. He only recognised it for what it was when Tabris and the other Wardens turned around, suddenly on guard. Then he felt it, the buzzing behind his eyes, a sensation like insects under his flesh. The darkspawn had returned.</p><p>A moment later there was a great <em> crash</em>, sending a shower of dust from the ceiling as the ground quaked beneath their feet. It happened again shortly after, the sound coming from a nearby wall of the chamber. The stone there was splitting, cracks webbing across its surface as something beyond attempted to break through.</p><p>Tabris looked from Tanith to Blackwall to the broken rock, then back again. Her mouth made a tight line, and she gripped the hilt of her blade so hard that it trembled. At first it seemed that she might rush forward and cut them down right then, but as the great crash of rock came a third time she stopped.</p><p>“Wardens!” she called, pivoting towards the crumbling wall. “To arms!”</p><p>They turned as one, falling into a loose formation around the Commander as the wall began to collapse, great chunks of stone falling to shatter on the ground below. There was a sound too, a muffled roar behind the hum, loud enough to shake the world around them. Blackwall knew he should run, should get Tanith away from this place while Tabris and her men were distracted, but he could not tear his eyes away. A final, ear-splitting racket and the wall exploded, throwing debris out into the cavern and forcing the Wardens backwards. Darkspawn emerged like phantoms from a thick cloud of dust, and behind them something larger, something with twisted horns and rusted armour and teeth like sabres, something that stepped into the cavern and roared.</p><p>Blackwall had seen etchings of ogres before, in the library at Fort Astor, but none of those meagre illustrations could capture the size of the thing, the way its footsteps made the ground tremble, the furious hunger in its eyes. One of the Warden mages threw a fireball the size of a cartwheel in the creature’s direction, and it brushed the missile away as though it were a fly. The warriors were already engaged with the scattered darkspawn who had come through the wall, their numbers too few to form a solid line. Blackwall held his sword ready as a handful of the creatures came darting towards where he and Tanith stood, mouths wide and screaming as they approached.</p><p>He smashed his shield into the skull of the nearest hurlock and threw its body back into another, swinging round to cut through flesh as they collided. At a warning cry from Tanith he turned to see a genlock lunging with its daggers drawn, vicious hatred in its beetle-black eyes. His shield caught the first blow and he parried the second, but the creature was fast and managed to slash a long cut along his leg. Thankfully the wound was shallow, but the sudden pain caught Blackwall off guard and he stumbled slightly where he stood. Before the darkspawn could retaliate he stabbed forward with his blade, the strike clumsy but effective, piercing the creature’s throat through sheer blind luck.</p><p>He had barely caught his breath when a sharp hiss alerted him to another group approaching, three hurlocks with curved blades and blackened armour. Blackwall readied himself to meet them, but before they were close enough to attack one was hit by a bolt of energy, spasming violently before dropping to the floor. The lightning arced from its body as it fell, splitting in the air and smashing into the other two darkspawn. They stopped in their tracks, shuddering, and Blackwall stepped in to cut them down before they could recover. He turned to see Tanith standing with her staff outstretched, face triumphant as she looked down at the fallen creatures.</p><p>The other Wardens were not faring so well. They had dispatched many of the common darkspawn, but the ogre was cutting a swathe through their ranks already. One Warden lay crumpled in a heap near the pile of debris, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Several others were hacking at the monster’s legs, to little effect, and as Blackwall watched the ogre lifted one of its attackers into the air and threw him against the cavern wall. There was an awful <em> crack </em> as the Warden’s body hit the stone, falling to the ground as limp as a ragdoll. Tabris was fighting at the edge of the battlefield, hacking at the creatures in front of her as she fought to get closer to her men.</p><p>“Blackwall! On your right!”</p><p>He spun around at Tanith’s shout, saw a hurlock aim its bow in his direction just in time to get his shield up. The arrow hit the wood with a low <em> thunk</em>, the force of it knocking him back a step. Before it could draw again Tanith threw a ball of flame towards the archer. It screamed as it caught fire, dropping its weapon to tear at its burning skin. She threw out another missile of light for good measure, this one knocking the creature to the ground. It writhed for a moment longer, then fell still.</p><p>Across the cavern, the ogre showed no signs of slowing. A high whistling cut through the air as the Warden archers loosed a hail of arrows, and a moment later the monster’s chest was bristling with their shafts. This seemed only to anger it further. The ogre bent down and picked up a boulder from the pile of rubble, lifting the huge rock in its arms as though it weighed nothing. Then it launched it towards where the archers stood, sending them scattering. One was not quick enough. The boulder crashed into her as she ran, pinning her body to the floor of the chamber.</p><p>When Tabris saw this she screamed, a high, wordless cry that echoed off the raw stone. The ogre turned slowly at the sound, beady eyes seeking out its source. When it found Tabris it dropped its great horned head low, dragging a foot across the ground like a bull preparing to charge. The Warden-Commander did not flinch. She crouched low like a sprinter, staring at the creature with eyes as sharp as flint. It began to run, great, thundering footfalls that sent dust falling from the ceiling. Tabris ran too, barrelling towards it full pelt, teeth bared, sword in hand. They drew closer with every step, heading for the middle of the chamber, for each other. For one breathless moment Blackwall thought Tabris would collide with the monster’s horned skull, but a second before they met she dropped low and skidded between its legs, rolling up onto her knees and bringing her sword round in a wide arc that severed the ogre’s hamstring. It bellowed, crashing to the ground with such force that the stone split beneath it, rolling onto its back as it tried vainly to stand.</p><p>Tabris walked over to the thrashing creature, her gait calm and steady, climbing up onto its torso as though it were a hill. She braced one foot against its snapping jaw and another between its horns, balancing there for a moment as it snarled. With a smooth motion of her wrist she turned her sword so it was pointing downwards, like the symbol on so many Andrastian pennants. Then Tabris grabbed the hilt hard with both hands and dropped her body low, plunging the blade deep into the creature’s open mouth. The ogre screamed and she screamed with it, her face twisting with fury as ichor fountained from its throat.</p><p>Blackwall saw his opportunity. The other Wardens were occupied with the remaining darkspawn, and the Commander was still crouched atop the ogre’s dying form. He ran to where where Tanith was standing and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her away from the battlefield and towards the cavern entrance.</p><p>When they were almost there he stopped, breathing hard. “Go,” he said. “Run. Now.”</p><p>“Alright,” she said. “Hurry up.”</p><p>“No.” Blackwall looked at her seriously. “You’ll move quicker alone. Someone has to get back and warn the order.”</p><p>Tanith stared at him, her expression horrified. “What?”</p><p>“Better one of us survive than neither,” he said. “I can keep Tabris occupied, give you time to run.”</p><p>“You go, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she spat. “A fireball’s much more distracting than a man with a pointy stick.”</p><p>“There isn’t time to argue,” he said, fear creeping into his voice.</p><p>“So stop arguing and <em> go.</em>”</p><p>“Tanith, please don’t make me pull rank—”</p><p>“Oh, <em> stop</em>.” She stepped forward until she was almost toe to toe with him, her eyes smouldering like coals in a brazier. Blackwall hadn’t seen her look this furious since the first day at Fort Astor, when he had pulled her off that whelp in the hall and spilled blood for the privilege. “What are you going to do?” Tanith said. “Order me to leave? What could you <em>possibly</em> do if I said no?”</p><p>He closed his eyes for a moment, biting back a sigh. “Nothing. Maker, woman, do I have to beg?”</p><p>“It wouldn’t change anything.”</p><p>“This is wasting time—”</p><p>“Listen to me.” Tanith placed a hand on either side of his face, forcing him to look her in the eye. It was not a gentle touch. Her fingernails sunk deep into his skin, and when she spoke again it was through gritted teeth. “I. Am not. <em> Leaving you</em>.”</p><p>Arguing with her was impossible. Once Tanith had set her mind to something she did not move, and Blackwall knew no amount of entreaty would sway her. He may as well attempt to still a river, or move a mountain.</p><p>“Fine,” he sighed. “Let’s go.”</p><p>But Tanith was looking over his shoulder now, no longer paying attention to him. Her hands fell back to her sides and she swallowed, hard. “Too late for that.”</p><p>Blackwall turned around. While they were talking the last of the darkspawn had been cut down, and Tabris and her men were approaching them once more. Pointless to run now, to die from an arrow between the shoulderblades. The Warden-Commander was dripping with the ogre’s blood, her blade held loosely at her side as she stepped towards them. As she drew closer Blackwall saw the wreckage of her face in more detail. The callous fury was gone, leaving behind an expression that was almost shaken. She stopped a few feet away from them, her breathing slow and ragged.</p><p>“Do you see now?” Tabris said quietly. “Do you see it?”</p><p>Blackwall lifted his sword arm as he took half a step sideways, putting himself between the Commander and Tanith. At almost the same time he felt a warmth beside him, and glanced over to see Tanith’s hand wreathed in flame. Good. If it was truly his time, this was how he wanted to go. With her, and fighting.</p><p>“Do you <em> see it</em>?” Tabris snarled. “Do you see what’s at stake here? What happens if it’s left unchecked?” Her voice broke on the last word.</p><p>“Warden-Commander—”</p><p>“No.” Tabris took two steps forward, her weapon raised, then rocked back onto her heels. Her eyes were blank, uncertain. She looked back at the devastation left after the battle, the bodies of her men strewn around like refuse. “No, no, <em> no</em>!”</p><p>The Warden-Commander made a fist and beat it violently against her chest, again and again and again, her face twisted with agony. Then she dropped her sword, the weapon clattering loudly against the stone as it fell. She leaned forward, barking out a sound that was almost like a sob.</p><p>“I will not do it.” Tabris spoke quietly, as if to herself. “I cannot. We lose too much. We lose too much.” At a gesture from her, the other Wardens lowered their weapons. Then she straightened up and stepped towards Blackwall and Tanith, her movements jerky and uneven.</p><p>“You’ve seen it now,” she said. “Or some of it, at least. Imagine this, a thousand-thousand times this, out on the surface. Will you listen?” Her voice was pleading, nervous, like a terrified child. “If I explain it, will you listen to me?”</p><p>“Explain what?” Tanith asked quietly, the ball of flame still burning steadily in her palm.</p><p>“All of it.” The Warden-Commander lowered her eyes. “What you saw. Why I’m here. Everything. Perhaps— perhaps if you understand—” she broke off, shaking her head. “I know you think me mad, and maybe that is so. But not in this. Never in this.”</p><p>Blackwall looked at her closely as she spoke. There was a heaviness in her posture, a flat quality to her eyes. He had seen it before, in old soldiers who had lived through too many wars. Tabris was exhausted. It was in every line of her body, every word that passed her lips. Despite all she had done, despite her threats and brutality and the danger she posed to the world, in that moment he felt a profound sympathy for the Warden-Commander. To see so much of death at such a tender age, to spend a decade living up to a hero’s title. For all her power, he did not envy her. Not in the slightest.</p><p>Tanith spoke carefully, letting the fire she held dim a little. “If we listen to what you have to say, will you let us go?”</p><p>Tabris nodded. “Yes. On heart and tree I swear it.”</p><p>This seemed to satisfy Tanith. “Alright,” she said. “We’ll listen.”</p><p>“Thank you.” The Commander bowed her head, then turned to look around the cavern. Her uninjured ear flicked as if listening for something. “But we cannot stay here. They will come again soon.” She turned to Oghren, standing at her shoulder. “Bury the dead. Leave the wagons. We must move quickly.”</p><p>The dwarf began calling orders to the other Wardens, and soon they dispersed to tend to the fallen. When only the three of them remained, Tabris turned back to Blackwall and Tanith. No, this was not strictly true; she looked only at Tanith when she spoke.</p><p>“We will discuss all you saw once we return to Orzammar,” Tabris said. “This is neither the time nor the place.”</p><p>The flame in Tanith’s hand extinguished as it fell to her side. “Very well.”</p><p>“I am sorry, sister.” The Warden-Commander’s voice was small in her throat. “Sometimes I forget…” she trailed off, shrugging. “I forget so much, here.” Then she turned and walked away, crossing the chamber to help her men with their dead.</p><p>Blackwall waited until Tabris was out of earshot before speaking. “Maker,” he breathed. “I thought… are you alright?”</p><p>Tanith’s eyes were still fixed on the Commander. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“Do you really believe she’ll let us go?”</p><p>“Heart and tree,” she said quietly. “I do.”</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Darkness Fell Upon The Lonely One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a sorely depleted party that made its way back through the long tunnels of the Deep Roads. Between those who had left with the Legion and the Wardens who had been killed by the darkspawn, less than a dozen of them remained. Their small numbers allowed them to move more quickly, however, and they covered a great deal of ground over the following days. When they made camp Tabris had the sentries stay close to Tanith and Blackwall, clearly not trusting that they wouldn’t attempt to flee. A wise decision, Tanith supposed. While she truly believed that the Warden-Commander would not attack them again, every instinct she possessed was still screaming at her to leave, to put as much distance between herself and this nightmare as she could.</p><p>She and Blackwall slept in shifts, ensuring that one of them was always awake to keep an eye on the other Wardens. Tanith knew that Blackwall allowed her the lion’s share of the rest, and was grateful for it. Her body was wracked with exhaustion, head thick and eyes blurred, the stale air and oppressive heat of the roads shredding her nerves. The Warden-Commander didn’t speak to them at all during the journey back to Orzammar. She had folded in on herself, her formidable presence shrinking to almost nothing. So many parts to this woman, so many shards and fragments. Like a shattered mirror, the Warden-Commander was all in pieces, none of which quite fit together; the despot, the madwoman, the frightened child, the warrior, the hero. When she looked at her Tanith was never certain who she was going to see.</p><p>But Tabris had sworn on heart and tree, her undamaged ear flat in supplication, and so Tanith took her at her word. That was not an oath sworn lightly in the alienage. When someone swore on heart and tree you believed them without question. Even down here, in this dead kingdom beneath the stone, that mattered. That meant something.</p><p>They saw no more darkspawn while they travelled. While Tanith was grateful for the absence of the hum, after several days of its maddening presence her head felt eerily quiet without it. Darkly she wondered whether the emissary was keeping its fellows away, protecting its <em> old friend </em> as she journeyed back to safety. Despite the Warden-Commander’s insistence that the darkspawn were her enemy, Tanith was still profoundly unsettled by what she had seen in the mausoleum. It was a secret Tabris had been prepared to kill to protect, for a while at least. When she closed her eyes Tanith could still see the circle of unmoving darkspawn, the emissary’s withered hands, could hear the quiet hissing and the breathy voice in the shadows. As if the Grey Warden nightmares were not bad enough, now she had to contend with these horrors while awake as well.</p><p>After several tense days of travel their party finally reached the octagonal door. Tabris pulled a series of levers set into the wall beside it — a signalling mechanism, Tanith presumed, letting the guards know that someone was waiting to return — and a few moments later the door creaked open on its hinges. The relief that Tanith felt stepping out of the roads was palpable. Though still underground, Orzammar felt nothing like the tunnels below. There was life here, ventilation, the sound of talk and industry, the thousand myriad sights and smells of a bustling city. Tanith drank it in as the Wardens made their way up towards the Diamond Quarter, spending an inordinate amount of time watching two children playing in the marketplace, listening to a drummer tap out a melody on the steps of a tavern. She wanted to appreciate every piece of it, to stow these small joys away in her heart, to have something worth remembering out of all of this.</p><p>The looks the citizens of Orzammar gave the Wardens as they passed were different to the hateful glares of their initial journey. Their party was smaller now, bloodied and injured and less imposing, and the people who stared did so with mingled wariness and revulsion in their eyes. Tabris remained stolid at the head of their procession, her chin lifted high as she climbed the city steps.</p><p>When they returned to the estate Hanna was waiting for them in the entrance hall, the archivist’s hands clasped behind her back as she watched the Wardens file through the front doors. Her usually impassive expression fell away when she saw how few they were, but she managed to compose herself swiftly.</p><p>“Welcome back, Commander,” she said. “I trust your travels were fruitful?”</p><p>Tabris ignored her. Instead she turned to her men, her eyes softer than usual. “You have done me proud, as always,” she said. “Go and rest. Go and mourn.”</p><p>They nodded to her, all but Oghren dispersing through the estate’s various corridors. Tanith and Blackwall remained standing in the entrance hall, uncertain whether this announcement had applied to them.</p><p>“May I fetch you anything?” Hanna asked Tabris, the slightest hint of anxiety in her voice. “You must be tired.”</p><p>“I will meet you in my office, Hanna.” The Warden-Commander sounded more than merely tired. Her voice was heavy with fatigue, her eyes half-closed where she stood. “Oghren, bring our guests to me in an hour.” Then she turned and walked down one of the long hallways, the archivist following at her heels.</p><p>“Well,” the dwarf said, looking up at them. “Looks like I’m on babysitting duty.”</p><p>“What are we supposed to do?” Tanith asked irritably. “Stand here waiting?”</p><p>“Do whatever you like,” Oghren said. “As long as you don’t leave the compound. That won’t end well for you.”</p><p>Lacking any other options, Tanith and Blackwall returned to their rooms. Tanith was surprised by how relieved she felt to be back in the familiar space, though she had disliked it immensely for the weeks she had spent there. Oghren was thankfully content to stand guard outside the door, leaving the two of them alone.</p><p>“So,” Tanith said, sinking down onto the couch and rubbing her face. “We survived the Deep Roads.”</p><p>“Don’t tempt fate.” Blackwall’s voice was flat. “Tabris might kill us yet.”</p><p>“That’s the spirit.” She managed a small smile. “You look awful, by the way.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“No.” Tanith wrinkled her nose. “Not like that. Just tired. You should get some sleep.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>A blatant lie. Blackwall looked dead on his feet, and she was certain that she wasn’t much better. Tanith was already indulging in daydreams of her narrow bed in the Fort Astor barracks, the warmth of the hearth in the great hall, the murmur of talk in the mess. She was homesick, she realised suddenly. Less than a season in the place and she was missing it. What a strange thing. What a wonderful thing, to have a home to miss.</p><p>Tanith shifted up on the couch, patting the space beside her. “Will you sit down?” she said. “You’re making the place look untidy.”</p><p>That, at least, Blackwall didn’t protest. He winced as he lowered himself onto the couch, favouring one leg. Tanith had healed his injuries as best she could on their way back to the city, but her abilities were poor at best. Blackwall closed his eyes as he sat, his head tipping back a little as he made himself comfortable. He was bruised, armour filthy with dust and ichor, the skin around his eyes dark with exhaustion. Tanith looked at him for a long time. There was an old break at the bridge of his nose, a thin scar that ran from the corner of his eye and down his cheek, disappearing under his beard.</p><p>“You’re staring.” Blackwall said, not opening his eyes.</p><p>“I’m not,” she said, not looking away.</p><p>He smiled a tired smile, reaching out as if to touch her hand before pulling back, perhaps thinking better of it. Tanith closed her own eyes, wondering how much sleep she would need to feel rested again. Months, probably. She wanted to hibernate like an animal, to crawl somewhere warm and safe and let her body put the pieces of itself back together. When she tried to remember what her life had been like, in the years before she had joined the Grey Wardens, she found that she could hardly recall individual events. In a few scant weeks she had experienced more fear, more danger, more joy than she had in most of her lifetime.</p><p>Tanith must have fallen asleep, for she was woken by the sound of heavy knocking on the door of the suite. Her head had been resting against Blackwall’s shoulder, and she sat up quickly as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.</p><p>“It’s time.” Oghren’s voice was muffled through the door. “Hurry up.”</p><p>Tanith and Blackwall rose, almost staggering out of the room. As they walked through the compound Tanith had to fight back several overwhelming urges to yawn, her few minutes rest having made her exhaustion worse rather than better.</p><p>Oghren stopped outside the door to the Warden-Commander’s office and nodded towards it, grunting. Tanith felt more alert as she stepped forward to turn the handle, her heart beating hard in her chest. Could this be a trap? Or was Tabris truly intending to share her secrets with them?</p><p>The Warden-Commander was standing by her desk, as she had been the first time Tanith had come to see her. She had clearly used the time since they had returned to clean the filth of battle from her body. Her hair was damp, tied in a tail at the base of her neck, and there was a touch of pink in her sallow cheeks. Her heavy plate had been exchanged for training leathers that left her arms bare. Without the armour Tanith could see how thin Tabris was, whipcord-lean and sharp-elbowed, her muscles ropelike where they stood out against her skin.</p><p>Skin that was mottled in dark patches, the flesh there leathery and withered, blemishing her arms from her shoulders to the bandages wrapped around her wrists. Tanith sucked in a breath. She had seen such markings recently, on the Wardens who had entered the Deep Roads for their Calling.</p><p>“How can that be?” Blackwall spoke quietly as he looked at Tabris. “You can’t be a dozen years from your Joining.”</p><p>The Commander’s hands went self-consciously to her upper arms, rubbing over the corrupted flesh there. “Our hahren used to tell me that the elves were once immortal,” she said, “and that contact with humans quickened our blood. Shortened our lifespans. I believe my proximity the horde has caused something similar, though I cannot say for certain.” Her voice was soft and level, as close to sane as Tanith had ever heard it.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Blackwall said, and there was genuine remorse in his tone.</p><p>“No need.” Tabris shook her head. “Do not fear the Call, when it comes. The music is… beautiful.” She smiled then, the first honest smile that Tanith had seen on her ruined face.</p><p>The Warden-Commander gestured for them to sit, and she did the same. She leaned forward in her chair, running her fingers absently over the items on the desk, pausing when she touched the rose pressed behind glass. For a long minute she was quiet, as though considering where to begin.</p><p>“What does a Grey Warden do?” she said at last.</p><p>At first Tanith assumed this question was rhetorical, but after a moment of silence Tabris looked at her expectantly. She fumbled for an answer.</p><p>“We kill darkspawn?”</p><p>The Commander gave half a nod, then turned to Blackwall.</p><p>“We protect people,” he said.</p><p>“You both have a piece of it,” Tabris said. “But not all. A Grey Warden’s oath, first and foremost, is to end the Blights by any means necessary. When the threat is not present that vow is often forgotten. Do you know how a Blight begins?”</p><p>“The darkspawn seek out the Old Gods,” Blackwall says. “Whey they find one, they corrupt it. It becomes an archdemon.”</p><p>“But do you know <em> why</em>?”</p><p>This gave him pause. He shook his head.</p><p>“The Old Gods call to the darkspawn,” Tabris said. “As they call to us, in time. That compulsion forces the horde to search, to dig for the prisons where the dragons slumber. They are bound to this impulse. It is as involuntary is breathing.”</p><p>Tanith recalled the dreams she had experienced since taking her Joining, the ones where the darkspawn tunnelled relentlessly down through layers of stone. This is what she was seeing, then. The horde seeking out the Old Gods, to bring another Blight upon the world.</p><p>“I crossed paths with the Architect when I was Warden-Commander in Amaranthine,” Tabris continued.</p><p>“The Architect?” Tanith asked. “It has a name?”</p><p>“More of a title than a name,” she said. “At first I felt as you did. The idea that a darkspawn could speak, could think independently… it seemed a dangerous thing. I tried to kill it, several times.” Tabris breathed out a slow sigh. “But eventually it sought me out of its own accord. It told me its plans and I listened.”</p><p>“Its plans,” Blackwall repeated, a touch of wariness in his voice.</p><p>Tabris nodded. “For whatever reason, the Architect is not subject to the call of the Old Gods as other darkspawn are,” she said. “It considers that impulse a curse upon its kind. It seeks to prevent it, to break the hold the Old Gods have upon the darkspawn and so liberate them from their compulsion.” The Warden-Commander looked up at them seriously. “It wishes to end the Blights.”</p><p>Tanith digested this for a moment. “How does it intend to do that, exactly?”</p><p>“We become Grey Wardens by drinking the blood of the darkspawn,” Tabris said. “Their corruption becomes a part of us. Years ago the Architect discovered that <em> our </em>blood has a similar effect on its own kind. They gain our resistance, and so become impervious to the Call.”</p><p>“You take blood from the Wardens?” Blackwall asked, clearly horrified.</p><p>“I take nothing that is not given freely,” Tabris said, a sharp edge to her voice. “With full knowledge of my intentions.” She touched the bandages that covered her forearms. “And I ask nothing that I do not first give myself.”</p><p>“What did it— what did the Architect give you?” Tanith asked. “You swapped the blood for something. I saw it.”</p><p>“A map,” Tabris said. “Of the places where the darkspawn tunnel. Understand, while the Architect and I share a goal, our approaches are different. It seeks to end the Blights by liberating its brethren from the call. I seek to end them by keeping the horde from its task. By killing as many darkspawn as possible.”</p><p>“And the Architect has no issue with this?”</p><p>The Warden-Commander shook her head. “It understands, as I do, that putting an end to the Blights is paramount. It would prefer to succeed by its method, and I by mine. But ultimately it matters not which one of us is victorious. Either way the Blights will end, and so we help each other where we can.” She sat back in her seat. “Understand that I am not driven by treachery. I have given my life to this order, and would not betray it. I seek to fulfil my oath. That is all.”</p><p>“What about Harrin?” Blackwall said quietly.</p><p>Tabris frowned, uncomprehending.</p><p>“He came here on his Calling,” Blackwall said. “An archer, from Fort Astor. He returned to the keep a changed man.” There was the slightest tremble in his voice.</p><p>“Ah.” Tabris frowned. “I remember him. He abandoned our party in the Deep Roads. I had assumed he left while we slept, following the Call. Some do.” She raised her eyebrows a little. “Maker. He went all the way back to Val Chevin? So that is why you are here.”</p><p>“I think he saw you with the Architect,” Blackwall said. “He was terrified. Fled rather that remain with you. We had to put him out of his misery, like a sick dog.”</p><p>The Warden-Commander appeared genuinely ashamed. “Men often fear what they do not understand,” she said. “But I am sorry. I know what it is to be denied your death.”</p><p>“So what happens now?” Tanith asked. “You would let us go, knowing what we know?”</p><p>“I would,” Tabris said. “You have a choice to make now. If you return to Val Chevin and inform the Warden-Constable of what I have told you, she will undoubtedly alert Weisshaupt. They will not tolerate it. I will be killed, or captured, or driven underground. My work with the Architect will be over, and the progress we have made will be thwarted. Not only that, but it will cause a schism from which the order may never recover. There are many in the Grey Warden ranks still loyal to me. Enough to mutiny, if it comes to it.” She blinked slowly. “So. This is the first choice you can make. The second is to say nothing. Return to Fort Astor and inform Perchet that your mission was a failure. Let the order remain united, and allow me to spend what little time I have left working to fulfil my vow.”</p><p>“It can’t be that simple,” Tanith said. “A few days ago you were ready to kill us for what we knew. Why let us go now?”</p><p>“Because before you knew nothing,” Tabris said. “Only what you saw. I hope that you may think differently, now that you understand my reasons.” She closed her eyes. “I am so tired of deciding. For once, I leave fate in another’s hands.”</p><p>The Warden-Commander reached into a drawer of her desk and brought out a familiar satchel. She handed it across the table to Blackwall, who opened it and inspected its contents. It contained the texts that they had brought from the library in Fort Astor.</p><p>“I had Hanna make copies of the relevant passages while we were away,” Tabris said. “You may return them to Perchet with my thanks.”</p><p>“As easy as that?” Blackwall said. “We can just leave?”</p><p>“Not all endings are remarkable, brother.” The Warden-Commander shrugged. “For Grey Wardens least of all.”</p><p>And so they left.</p><p>Tanith and Blackwall returned to their suite, to collect the few belongings they had brought with them. On their way out of the compound the silent Wardens nodded as they passed, a touch of respect in their hollow gazes. It felt wrong somehow, to be leaving so suddenly, with so little fanfare. They had done what they had set out to achieve, but Tanith felt no more satisfied for it. Instead the choice the Commander had given them weighed heavy on her shoulders, leaving her sick with exhaustion.</p><p>There was a part of her that wanted to visit the Commons again before they left Orzammar, to say goodbye to Corra and the other regulars at Tapster’s, but that time seemed a world away now. Besides, there was no telling what reception would be waiting for them in their Grey Warden garb. Instead they walked back through the Hall of Heroes, the statues now reminding Tanith overmuch of the ones in the ruined city, and left through the great double doors.</p><p>Tanith had to squint against the light, almost painfully bright after several weeks of dimness. As she blinked back tears the world coalesced in front of her; the sharp peaks of the Frostbacks jutting from the earth, drifts of clean new snow, the midday sun bright in the cloudless sky. The air was so cold and clear that it near tore the breath from her lungs.</p><p>“Atrast tunsha, Wardens,” one of the gate guards said. “Don’t come back too soon.”</p><p>They walked down the ramp to the market square below, as silent as they had been since leaving the Warden-Commander’s office. Blackwall stopped at one of the market stalls to restock their provisions for the journey back to Fort Astor. As he haggled with the stallholder Tanith let her eyes wander across the landscape, taking in the shoppers, the soldiers, the merchants. Such an ordinary scene, all these people in blissful ignorance of the war that raged beneath their feet.</p><p>Her gaze landed on the tall doors of Orzammar, and she frowned at what she saw there.</p><p>“Blackwall,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “Look.”</p><p>He turned around, eyes widening when he saw what she was staring at. A small figure at the top of the steps, her hair flame-red. “Maker. What’s she doing out here?”</p><p>“Wait for me,” Tanith said.</p><p>She walked back towards the mountainside, her boots crunching against the fresh-fallen snow. Tabris was standing outside the city doors, looking out across the valley. Her arms were still bare, but she did not shiver. The sunlight made both her scars and her youth achingly clear.</p><p>“Lorelei,” Tanith said.</p><p>Tabris turned slowly, as though waking from a trance. Her cheeks were wet with tears. “I had to see it,” she said. “Just one more time.”</p><p>“Come with us,” Tanith said, taking a step towards her. “Come and tell the Warden-Constable what you told us. If you explain it, if you make her understand—”</p><p>“No.” The Commander’s voice was firm. “The order has chosen to erase me from its history. If I resurface there is no doubt in my mind that Weisshaupt will have me removed for good. Perhaps it is better this way.”</p><p>Something twisted in Tanith’s heart. None of this was right, none of it. “They have to listen to you,” she said. “You’re the Hero of Ferelden.”</p><p>Tabris shook her head, her jaw trembling a little as she spoke. “No,” she said quietly. “The Hero of Ferelden was a boy. His bones are in the Anderfels, turning to dust in some cold tomb. The title was never mine to claim.”</p><p>“So that’s it?” A sudden anger flared in Tanith. This was a coward’s choice, an easy way out. “You’re just giving up? Crawling back underground to die?”</p><p>They stood there, those two children of the alienage, while the mountain wind raged cold and bitter around them. Outside the fallen kingdom and above it, still at the end of the world. The Commander lifted her hand to Tanith’s cheek, and the touch was so gentle that it took her breath for a moment.</p><p>“None of us survive this,” Tabris said. “Make sure to live while you can.”</p><p>Then she turned around and walked back to the doors of Orzammar, signalling for the guards to let her through. The gates crept open on their hinges, the smell of brimstone filling the air for a moment. Tanith watched as her people’s last hero crossed the threshold, and disappeared once more into darkness.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. And So We Burned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>While they had been underground the world above had turned to true summer. Blackwall and Tanith had barely made it to the Frostback foothills when the air around them grew noticeably warm, the roadside now a riot of wildflowers. Insects buzzed lazily between blossoms, the grass was lush and soft underfoot, and the thin clouds that scudded overhead never blocked the sun for more than a moment. To Blackwall’s mind there was something almost surreal about it, to be among so much life and colour, when until recently there had been nothing but molten rock and stone and ash. It felt disrespectful, somehow. Tabris had given all of this up when she was little more than a child, for the order they were all a part of. It did not seem right that he and Tanith should be allowed to return to the world while she remained below.</p><p>If Tanith herself was having such thoughts she did not share them. They travelled in relative silence, only speaking of practical things; where to make camp for the evening, was there a water source nearby, did they have enough food for the following day. Blackwall saw how fitfully she slept at night, the way her face creased in the light of the campfire, her eyelids twitching wildly. There had been a connection of sorts between her and Tabris, he was certain, an understanding that he had been no party to. Whatever discontent Blackwall felt, he was certain that Tanith was feeling it twice over.</p><p>They travelled a different way towards Jader this time, taking a shortcut that would be more passable now that the land was dry. Eventually they ended up back on the road, a route that took them past a coaching inn on the Ferelden-Orlais border. It was a large and well-provisioned place called the Hare and Hounds, catering to the merchant caravans that travelled between the two nations. Blackwall and Tanith did not stop to confer before stepping inside. They ordered food and paid for two rooms on the building’s second floor, desperate for one night of real rest.</p><p>Three days later they had still not left. It was not something that was discussed, or even acknowledged. There was a kind of mutual denial at work, a silent promise that neither one of them would ask why they had not yet moved on towards Jader. Instead they spent their days in the common room of the Hare and Hounds, drinking soft cider and saying very little. As they had in the Orzammar Commons they eschewed their armour for civilian clothes, happy to blend into the anonymous crowd of the taproom.</p><p>Tanith bought a deck of cards off a bored caravan guard, and she and Blackwall played hand after hand of Diamondback at their table in the corner. Without anything to bargain with it was something of a pointless activity, a repetitive game with no stakes, but it kept their hands occupied and gave them an excuse not to speak of all that had happened.</p><p>The inn was large and prosperous enough to have a small bathhouse in a back room of the building, where each of them had spent several long hours during the first day of their stay. Blackwall scrubbed a week’s worth of grime from his skin to reveal the bruises beneath, turned all to blues and yellows in the days since they had left the Deep Roads. The laceration that Tanith had healed was now an ugly scar that ran the length of his right bicep, the flesh pale and puckered where it had knitted together. Experienced healers could close a wound such as this without a trace, but Blackwall was almost grateful for the mark. It was a strange memento, a reminder that their excursion to the Deep Roads had really happened. Already the experience was beginning to feel like a fever dream.</p><p>Aside from this, their only other activity was sleep. Tanith had gone to her room almost the moment that it was paid for on the first day, and had not come down again until the following afternoon. She still looked tired, but it was not the awful bone-weariness that had been upon her when they had left Orzammar. Her fire was still there, but dim now, a wisp of smoke rising from a stack of kindling. Sometimes she would doze at the table, chin resting against the heel of her hand, the tips of her ears pointing low. Her dark eyelashes would flicker gently as she tried to remain awake, the curl of her lip almost stubborn. Every time he would encourage her to return to her room and sleep, and every time she would refuse twice before relenting.</p><p>On the evening of the third night Blackwall was in his own room, staring at the ceiling as usual. Sleep had mostly eluded him since their departure from Orzammar. The dreams of the horde had come more frequently, and so rest held little appeal. Instead he laid on top of the covers in his narrow chamber, watching a strand of cobweb flutter from a beam in the roof and trying not to think about tomorrow. Moonlight spilled in through the window, bathing everything it touched in pale light, and the candle on his bedside table was burning low.</p><p>He was almost drifting off when there was a gentle knock at the door.</p><p>“It’s me.” Tanith’s voice was muffled by the wood.</p><p>“Come in,” he said, sitting up and shaking the bleariness from his head.</p><p>She turned the handle and stepped inside, her bare feet light against the floorboards. From her tousled curls and the creases on her shirt Blackwall guessed that she had just woken up herself. Tanith walked halfway across the room and stopped, folding her arms over her chest.</p><p>“Are we defecting?” she said.</p><p>“What?” The question was so sudden, so unexpected, that he could think of nothing more insightful to say.</p><p>“Are we defecting?” Tanith repeated. Her mouth was a tight line. “We’ve been here three days. We don’t seem to be going back to Fort Astor. So, are we defecting?”</p><p>“No,” Blackwall said, not entirely with conviction. “Of course not.”</p><p>“So what <em> are </em> we doing?” she asked. “That purse is going to run out eventually. Then what?”</p><p>“We go back,” he said.</p><p>Tanith had put an end to their comforting state of denial so abruptly that it left him reeling. In truth, he had chosen not to think that far ahead. Foolish, he knew, but far more appealing than the alternative.</p><p>“Yes, and then what?” she pressed. “We have to tell Perchet something. Don’t you think we should talk about what that is?”</p><p>Blackwall sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Probably,” he said. “Maker, yes, we should.”</p><p>“Alright.” Tanith nodded firmly. “So talk.”</p><p>“What do you think we should do?”</p><p>For a moment Tanith just stood there, teeth worrying at her lip as she rocked up onto her toes. “I don’t think we should tell Perchet what happened,” she said eventually. “I trust what Tabris said. I know it’s stupid, but I do. And she’s not wrong, is she? The Grey Wardens are supposed to end the Blights. If that’s what she’s doing, then I don’t see what right it is of ours to get in the way of it.” She glanced up anxiously, awaiting his response.</p><p>Blackwall nodded. “I agree.”</p><p>“No, listen, I just think— wait, what?” Tanith gave him an incredulous look. “You <em> agree</em>?”</p><p>“Yes,” he said. “I do. I’ve seen more darkspawn in the last two weeks than I have in five years with the order. Tabris has lived that a thousand times over, and it’s clear that she knows far more about what’s at stake than either of us. If she says this is the best course of action, I’m inclined to believe her.”</p><p>“But Perchet ordered you to find out what Tabris was doing,” Tanith said. “You love following orders. It’s your favourite.”</p><p>Blackwall met her eyes. “I was recently informed that not all orders are good.”</p><p>Tanith laughed quietly, the sound breaking the tension in the room. “Alright. Glad we’re in agreement. For once.” She wandered over and sat down on the edge of the bed, turning around to face him as she spoke. “Margot’s going to be pissed, isn’t she?”</p><p>“Probably.”</p><p>“At least my terrible reputation will remain intact. Would hate for anyone to think I was getting competent.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile, the expression making her look more like herself than she had in days.</p><p>A question had been playing on Blackwall’s mind since they had left the Deep Roads, and he asked it without thinking. “Why did you stay?”</p><p>“Stay where?”</p><p>“In the cavern,” he said. “Why didn’t you run when I told you to?”</p><p>Tanith scoffed, her cheeks colouring behind the freckles. “Because it was a terrible idea,” she said. “Running alone into the Deep Roads with no map and no way out? I’ve heard you suggest some idiotic things before, but that was definitely one of the worst.” She spoke a little too quickly. Her ears twitched.</p><p>Blackwall gave her a serious look. “Tanith.”</p><p>“Because,” she said, shrugging helplessly. “Because. Look, it was rough down there, alright? You don’t just… <em> abandon </em> people like that. What am I supposed to do, go back to Fort Astor and tell Hy and Nataly that their friend is dead because I ran like a coward?”</p><p><em> I’m the kind of woman who likes her throat uncut</em>, she had said to him, the first night they had ever spent on the road. <em> If it means running, I run. </em> Had she changed so much, in those few short months?</p><p>Tanith dropped her eyes, frowning. “I can’t stop thinking about her,” she said. “I don’t know how she does it. Living in that place, spending her whole life in the dark. It makes me feel like I’m not cut out to be a Warden. I couldn’t do that.”</p><p>“I couldn’t either,” he said. “But I think she’s wrong on that account. I don’t believe there’s one right way to be a Warden.”</p><p>“You don’t?” she asked.</p><p>“No.” Blackwall moved to sit up straighter. “Even if Tabris fails, there likely won’t be another Blight for a hundred years or more. If we all went underground, who’d recruit for the order? Who’d close the fissures on the surface? Maker, who’d be there to save some backwater village from bandits when the nearest guard post is fifty miles away? It all serves a purpose, Tanith. All of it.”</p><p>“Huh.” Tanith tipped her head to one side. “You really believe that.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“No, I mean, I can <em> tell </em>you believe it,” she said, sounding vaguely shocked. “I can tell, stupid flat ears and all. You’re not lying.”</p><p>“I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment or an insult.”</p><p>“Neither,” Tanith said quietly. “It’s just interesting.”</p><p>She looked at him for a long moment, like this was her first time truly seeing him. Her eyes were curious, her lips slightly parted. Blackwall was acutely aware of how close she was sitting to him, the way her shirt had slipped down to reveal the freckled curve of her shoulder. Then she leaned forward, reaching out to push her fingers through his hair, trailing them down the side of his neck. The movement was gentle, almost hesitant.</p><p>“Tanith,” he said. “What are you doing?”</p><p>She blinked once, the moonlight making stars of her eyes. “Living.”</p><p>When she kissed him there was no uncertainty in it, no doubt. Her lips were warm and chapped from chewing, the pads of her fingers calloused where they touched his skin. A hundred protests swelled up to die on his tongue. So many ways that this was wrong, none of which held water when she was so close, so real, so alive. Blackwall kissed her back, his hands at her waist, trying to recall how long he had been wanting to do this for, unable to identify the precise moment. She was all solace, all surety, a thing so far from darkness.</p><p>Tanith broke away to undo the buttons of his shirt, deft fingers quick at the fastenings. He pressed his lips to her clavicle, her throat, the elegant slope of her ear. At every touch she made a little sing-song hum, the sound so profoundly <em> her </em> that he found himself smiling against her skin. She had been his salvation these past weeks, an antidote to the endless days of disquiet. Her temper, her passion, her resolve. It made him question things he had thought himself so sure of. With every glance of her eyes she asked <em> is this enough, could there be more, was there a another way</em>? Being near her was a challenge, the kind that left one better for its travails. She had made him better.</p><p>Then she was pulling her own shirt off and drawing him close, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him with renewed fervour. The curves of her soft against him, skin smelling of hedgerows in spring. She nipped at his throat, sharp teeth leaving him gasping, and he felt the laughter bubble up in her chest. Even now she couldn’t resist an opportunity to goad him. He moved back so she was lying alongside him, easing her leggings over her hips as he kissed down the line of her body, his mouth eager against her ribs, her stomach, the meat of her thighs. Tanith’s laughter hitched, caught, and then she was breathing out slow, fingers tangling in his hair as he nudged her legs apart.</p><p>Tasting her was a libation. She was all honey-sweetness and heat, arching against him, the curses that tumbled from her low and indelicate. Impatient as always, clawing at his scalp, digging her heels hard into the muscle of his shoulders. Blackwall was happy to oblige her, to let her guide him, to forget himself and all he had seen, even for a moment. There were no vows here, no sacrifices. Just a world the size of a room, and her, and her, and her.</p><p>Tanith pushed herself towards him as she peaked, breathing hard, toes curling against his back. The way she said his name was half-prayer, half-rebuke. He could feel where her nails would leave grooves in his skin, marking him like territory. She trembled for a moment as she settled, but did not fall still. Instead she sat up to kiss him again, mouth hungry and insistent, her thighs clamping hard around him as she rolled him onto his back.</p><p>There was a moment spent fumbling with buckles and buttons and then she was on top of him again, the smile that played across her lips almost triumphant. She lowered herself onto him with aching slowness, and for a moment the edges of his vision went dark with wanting her. He could not think beyond the slick heat of her, the press of her flesh against his, the proprietary way she ran her fingers across his chest as she moved against him. Tanith rocked back on her hips, the moonlight luminous against her skin. She was beautiful, all softness and freckles and fire.</p><p>When their eyes met Blackwall felt exposed, as he always did when her gaze fell on him. Like she could transcribe every secret in his heart just by looking. But there was something else in her face now, a quality so subtle he could not find the words to describe it. A tenderness, almost, a vulnerability behind the desire. Several curling strands of hair had fallen across her face, and this time he did not resist the urge to push them away. He sat up, pulling her as close as he was able, burying his face in the hollow of her throat. She rolled around him like waves against the shore, as slow, as impossible to resist.</p><p>The hours that followed did more to revive him than any night’s sleep could manage. There was more rest in the weight of her body against his, more healing in the warmth of her lips, more relief in the steady tempo of her heartbeat. He sucked the salt from her fingers, forgetting every oath he had ever sworn.</p><p>Later Tanith lay breathing hard beside him, her curls fanned out against the pillow. The moon had moved behind the Frostbacks now, leaving only a narrow slice of light across the room. She reached up to wipe the sheen of sweat from her brow, then rested her arm behind her head.</p><p>“Alright,” she said. “Now we have another problem.”</p><p>“Hold on,” Blackwall said, alarmed. “It was you who—”</p><p>Tanith cut him off, laughing. “Maker, it’s almost too easy. Don’t fret.” She settled her head on his shoulder, tracing slow patterns on his chest with a fingertip. “I don’t suppose that was very professional of us, was it?”</p><p>“Probably not,” he admitted.</p><p>“I imagine Margot thought you’d be a good influence on me,” she said. “Terrible mistake on her part.”</p><p>Blackwall chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I can’t say I’ve much to complain about.”</p><p>“I should think not.” Tanith sat up a little to look at him. The tips of her ears were high, her eyes soft. “What happened in Orzammar…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “It was awful. But it could have been worse, I think. Without you. I’m glad you were there.”</p><p>“High praise, from you.”</p><p>“Don’t get used to it,” she grinned. “The moment we walk out of here I start making your life a living hell again.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”</p><p>“When is that going to be, by the way?”</p><p>Blackwall considered that. “Well. Now we’ve got our story straight, there’s no reason not to leave tomorrow.”</p><p>“True.” There was half a suggestion in her voice.</p><p>“However,” he said, “I’m fairly certain we’ve enough coin for another night or two.”</p><p>Tanith flashed her teeth. “Much better.”</p><p>She leaned down to kiss him again, slower this time. All that they had been through, all the fear, all the death; the gentle brush of her lips against his almost made it worth it. This was not a wise thing, Blackwall knew, and he was certain that their lapse in judgement would come with its own complications in time.</p><p>But that was a problem for tomorrow. For now, for tonight, being alive was enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WE MADE IT! thank you all SO MUCH to everyone who slogged through this literal novel of a fic, I love you all very much</p><p>I'm definitely planning to write more fic within the All Souls cinematic universe (and am 70-80% sure there's a direct sequel in the pipeline), so if you enjoyed this and want to see more I recommend subscribing to my account for updates</p><p>as always come say hi @filthyknifeear on tumblr or @elfthirst on twitter</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this fic takes place in around the same timeframe as inquisition (9:41 dragon), but the events of DAI have not taken place. the events of origins definitely did take place. clarel isn't the orlesian commander of the grey because i'm writing this and i say so</p></blockquote></div></div>
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